


The Gege Collector

by JuxtaposeFantasy



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, Summer Surf Shop | Let's Sacalaca (TV), UNIQ (Band), 天天向上 | Day Day Up (TV), 这！就是街舞 | Street Dance of China (TV), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Bottom Wang Yi Bo, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PWP, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Size Difference, Size Kink, Somnophilia, Threesome, Topping from the Bottom, baby Yibo, collaring, fanboy Yibo, mentoring, pain play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposeFantasy/pseuds/JuxtaposeFantasy
Summary: Yibo loves his geges and his geges love him. A collection of unconnected one-shot PWPs, comedic encounters, and stories of platonic mentorship between Yibo and the geges in his life. Tags will be updated as fics are added.1. Xiao Zhan - Rated E2. Yin Zheng (motorcycle gege) - Rated E3. Valentino Rossi (motoGP gege) - Rated T4. Liu Haikuan & Wang Zhuocheng (Untamed geges) - Rated T5. Hu Bing (nose hair gege) - Rated E6. Huang Xiaoming (firefighting gege) - Rated G7. Maximus (gladiator gege) - Rated E8. Zhang Yixing (dance gege) - Rated E9. Huang Jingyu (poverty alleviation show gege) - Rated E10. Zhou Yixuan (UNIQ gege) - Rated T11. Han Dongjun (surf shop gege) - Rated E12. Anonymous Cameraman (SDC gege) - Rated G13. Jackson Wang (dance gege) - rated E14. Team Wave of King Bombs (dance geges) - rated T15. Yanyan & Lele (bodyguard geges) - rated G16. Bouboo (dance gege) - rated E17. Xiao Bao (dance gege) - rated E18. Wang Dalu (DDU guest gege) - rated E
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo & Huang Xiaoming, Wang Yi Bo & Zhou Yi Xuan, Wang Yi Bo/Bouboo, Wang Yi Bo/Dianmen, Wang Yi Bo/Gladiator, Wang Yi Bo/Han Dongjun, Wang Yi Bo/Hu Bing, Wang Yi Bo/Huang Jingyu, Wang Yi Bo/Jackson Wang, Wang Yi Bo/Liu Haikuan/Wang Zhuocheng, Wang Yi Bo/Wang Dalu, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Bao, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Ji, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan, Wang Yi Bo/Yin Zheng, Wang Yi Bo/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay, Wang Yibo & Valentino Rossi's poster
Comments: 418
Kudos: 505





	1. Xiao Zhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta start this collection off with the OG gege. I may write more than one with XZ, we'll see. 
> 
> By the way, if you have any suggestions for geges, feel free to leave them in comments. 
> 
> Tags for this chapter: collaring, dom/sub, praise kink, dirty talk, PWP, rated E

There’s a single box under the small, anemic-looking tree that Yibo has brought into his hotel room.

“That’s a terrible tree, Yibo.”

He comes to stand beside Xiao Zhan, who’s just arrived from the airport. They both stare at the tree where it sits on the table beside the television stand.

“It was the only small one I could find at short notice,” Yibo says.

“In that case you should have passed.” Xiao Zhan laughs and spins away from Yibo’s slap to the arm. “Seriously, Yibo, it’s an ugly tree.”

“So what? It’s what it represents that matters.”

Xiao Zhan rubs his chin. He’s dressed in jeans and an oversized hoodie. He’d pulled off his knitted cap when Yibo had attacked him with kisses. His hair is still adorably mussed. 

Getting together for the holiday wasn’t something they’d expected could happen with their hectic schedules, yet a fortuitous cancellation due to bad weather has given them this one night together. Yibo is determined to make it the best Christmas he can.

“I don’t need the holiday trappings,” Xiao Zhan tells him as he curls an arm around Yibo’s shoulders. “I’d love spending Christmas with you even if it were in a garbage dump.”

Yibo leans into him. Xiao Zhan smells like an airplane and wasabi peanuts, with an undercurrent of his favorite cologne.

“You deserve better than that,” Yibo declares, “so you’re getting it.”

“So sweet, puppy.” 

Xiao Zhan leans down and Yibo meets him, their lips pressing together softly, gently. There will be time later for the more intense stuff. Yibo craves that like air, but he needs this soft connection, too. He loves many aspects of Xiao Zhan, especially this duality.

“Is that present for me, then?” Xiao Zhan asks against his lips.

Yibo smiles. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Xiao Zhan leans away, a surprised look on his face. He cants his gaze at the present under the sparse, drooping tree. “If it’s not for me then who would it be for?”

“Me?”

Yibo’s heartrate begins to climb. They’ve finally reached the moment he’s been thinking about for weeks. It entered his brain as a whisper, and these days it’s a song that he hums every time he’s together with Xiao Zhan. But it might be a melody that only he hears, and thus the ambiguity of this gift and why his excitement is wound up in anxiety.

“Sounds like an odd gift.” Xiao Zhan looks at the present again, clearly curious now. He won’t leave the room without knowing what’s in it and that’s as thrilling as it is terrifying to Yibo. “Can I open it? Or are you supposed to?”

Yibo licks his lips. “We can open it together. But maybe, you’d like to shower first?”

“Oh, so it’s _that_ kind of gift,” Xiao Zhan says with a laugh that pushes his eyes into cute crescents atop his cheeks. “I get it now. Okay, Yibo. You sit tight and I’ll make myself clean for you.”

“I just thought you’d want to after all the flying,” Yibo mumbles.

Xiao Zhan drags him close and kisses his forehead. “You’re right. I feel grimy. So let me get refreshed. How about you get the bed ready, hmm? And yourself?”

He gives Yibo a heated look and it’s second nature to nod and say, “Yes, Zhan-ge.”

While Xiao Zhan showers, Yibo pulls the comforter off the bed and folds the bedsheet back. The tube of lube goes under a pillow. Yibo hopes they use most of it tonight.

With all that ready, he sees to himself, not that there’s much he needs to do. He’s been prepped ever since he learned Xiao Zhan would be coming to see him. All he does now is strip naked and fluff his hair a little so he’s as handsome as possible.

But there is one more thing he needs to do. He retrieves the box from beneath the sad tree and brings it to the bed where he sits with it, legs crossed, and waits for Xiao Zhan to come out.

It doesn’t take long. Xiao Zhan is apparently as eager as he to get to the good stuff. He emerges with towel-dried hair and a grin as Yibo gives him a thorough onceover. Xiao Zhan is all legs and Yibo loves to follow their long lengths to their apex, where dark hair surrounds a pale cock that matches his tall stature. It’s already swollen, but Yibo is looking forward to handling it when it’s fully hard.

“Like what you see?” Xiao Zhan asks with a playful, sultry look.

“I love it. You’re crazy sexy.”

“Mmm, so is a certain didi.” Xiao Zhan climbs onto the bed and sits beside him, shoulder resting against Yibo’s. He looks down at the box. “Okay, I’m ready. This better not be something messy. Or maybe that’s okay, since this room isn’t under my name.”

“Whatever.” Yibo knocks his shoulder into him before sliding the box over. “Open it.”

“You said it could be for either of us.”

“Yeah, but—” Yibo plucks restlessly at the sheet. “Just open it.”

“Uh oh. Now you’re making me nervous.” Xiao Zhan does indeed look slightly apprehensive as he pulls the box to him. He picks it up, weighing it with consideration. “It’s not something expensive, is it?”

Yibo rolls his eyes, some of his tension lessening. “Would it matter if it is? I can afford it.”

“True.” Xiao Zhan laughs at himself. “Alright, fine. I’ll open it. This is becoming too dramatic for my heart to take.”

Yibo doesn’t watch his hands as he opens the box. He watches Xiao Zhan’s face. His damp hair has fallen carelessly over his forehead. It’s longer in back these days and Yibo yearns to comb his fingers through it. But he only admires from afar, watching as Xiao Zhan’s curiosity melts away, replaced by surprise and then something quiet. His lack of expression forces Yibo to look down at the box just to check that his gift didn’t somehow mutate into something else. But, no, it’s exactly what he packed two days ago with trembling fingers and hope in his heart.

“Say something,” Yibo whispers when the silence stretches. 

Xiao Zhan’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Is this what I think it is?”

Yibo can’t read him. It’s knotting his guts to not know what Xiao Zhan is thinking and feeling right now. It’s never happened before. They’ve always been in sync, two sides of the same coin.

“It is what it is if you want it to be,” Yibo says. He can barely hear himself over the rush of blood through his ears.

“I think it’s a collar.” Xiao Zhan turns to face him. His eyes are black from the size of his pupils. “I think it’s a collar for putting on someone.”

Yibo feels himself shaking but can’t do anything about it. He can only wait, struggling to draw breath into his lungs, as Xiao Zhan removes the black leather band from the box and rubs it between his fingers.

“It’s nice,” Xiao Zhan says quietly. “Soft. It won’t chafe. It _is_ expensive, you little shit.”

Yibo tries to laugh but can’t quite get his throat to work.

“You’re giving it to me,” Xiao Zhan goes on, with Yibo hanging on his every word, “but aren’t I supposed to be giving it to you?”

Yibo moves to shove a hand into his lap but Xiao Zhan is quicker, snagging his wrist and keeping Yibo’s hand suspended in the air.

“No,” Xiao Zhan says softly, but firmly. “I didn’t say you could.”

Yibo’s muscles fail him. He slumps, curling around his middle where his cock is a star, pulsing with heat and energy. “Zhan-ge, please.”

“We’re dealing with this first, Yibo. Put your hand down.”

With a groan, Yibo presses both hands to his knees and does his best to sit upright. He’s still shaking, though, and he knows Xiao Zhan can feel it.

“Easy, puppy,” Xiao Zhan murmurs, gently patting his leg.

Yibo has to shut his eyes, overwhelmed by affection and lust. 

“Open your eyes, Yibo.”

He takes a breath before obeying. Xiao Zhan’s expression is intent. He’s never looked more handsome. Or more serious.

“A collar is no little thing,” he says. “It’s not just a cool accessory.”

Yibo sucks air between his breath. He’s so wound up he feels like he’s going to fly apart. “Yes, fuck, I know what it means.”

“I don’t think you do if you’re giving me attitude.”

“It’s not attitude,” Yibo says in a moan. He digs his fingernails into the skin of his knees. “Trust me, it’s not attitude.”

Xiao Zhan leans close to him. Yibo trembles against his shoulder.

“You like to resist me, Yibo.” Xiao Zhan’s voice slips into Yibo’s ear and enters his blood. “I’d like you to be a good boy for me now and be still.”

The order is softly spoken but it may as well be accompanied by manacles. Yibo can’t break it, and he doesn’t want to. He absorbs the words, lets them run through his veins, and his anxiety begins to mellow. When Xiao Zhan presses soft lips to his cheek, he feels better, more in control.

“Good puppy,” Xiao Zhan says.

Yibo nods. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay and this is okay. I can tell you really want this.” Xiao Zhan shakes his head. “You have no idea what it does to me to see you react so strongly.”

Yibo gets a hint, though, as he watches Xiao Zhan close his eyes and take a deep breath before letting it out. The smile that curves Xiao Zhan’s lips is sweet, completely at odds with the hunger in his eyes as he raises the collar.

“I want to put this on you,” Xiao Zhan tells him. “I want it to mean what you want it to mean.”

Yibo’s breath ripples from him. “Please.”

“All these months—they’ve felt like days. Like time barely passes when I’m with you. But the funny thing is, I worry sometimes that it’s all going to slip away from me.”

“It won’t,” Yibo says firmly. “ _I_ won’t. That’s why I bought this. I wanted you to know that I’m committed to you for however long you want me.”

“Yibo…” Xiao Zhan kisses his shoulder. “In that case…I want you forever.”

He brings the collar up to Yibo’s throat. Yibo wants to close his eyes, wants to savor the buttery press of the leather against his throat—but he can’t. He needs to sear the expression on Xiao Zhan’s face into his memory forever. Xiao Zhan’s eyes are sheened with light and his lips are parted, as though he can’t draw breath. When he buckles the collar into place behind Yibo’s neck, his fingertips trace the leather back to the front, where he studies how the leather hugs the sharp contour of Yibo’s Adam’s apple.

Yibo can’t help but swallow. The slight pressure feels incredible. The leather is unmistakable, the _claim_ is unmistakable.

“I’m yours,” Yibo tells him.

“You’re mine,” Xiao Zhan murmurs. “And by taking control of you, I become yours as well.”

Yibo tackles him backward to the mattress. He kisses Xiao Zhan’s laughter until it turns into deep-throated moans.

“Want you so much,” Yibo murmurs against his jaw before he kisses it. “Want to please you and make you happy. Want it more than anything else in the world.”

Xiao Zhan hooks a finger in the collar. The tug of it on the back of his neck makes Yibo go still.

“You do please me. You will make me happy.” Xiao Zhan slides his finger slowly back and forth beneath the leather, reminding them both of its presence. “Never fear that, Yibo. I love you.”

Yibo hides his face against his neck. “Zhan-ge…”

Xiao Zhan urges him to stretch out atop him. He runs his fingertips down Yibo’s spine and hooks his ankles around Yibo’s calves so he can spread Yibo’s legs apart and keep them locked in place.

“You’re a good puppy,” Xiao Zhan murmurs while his fingers tease down to the rise of Yibo’s ass. They slide into his crease and dip between his cheeks to feather over his rim.

Yibo wants to behave and remain still for him, but the fingers playing with his ass drives him crazy. It’s been too long. He can’t help grinding against Xiao Zhan’s hips.

When a finger presses against his pucker, he whimpers and arches his back to encourage it to penetrate him. Xiao Zhan kisses Yibo’s temple as he eases his finger inside.

“There you go,” Xiao Zhan whispers as he tests the glide of the lubrication inside him. “All ready for me, aren’t you, puppy?”

“’Cuz I need you,” Yibo groans in frustration. He tries to hump back on Xiao Zhan’s finger.

Xiao Zhan wraps his free arm around Yibo’s waist to keep him from moving as he slides a second finger inside him. His open mouth finds Yibo’s and they share breath as Xiao Zhan slowly finger fucks him.

It’s a sweet form of torture and Yibo doesn’t want it to stop, but he needs so much more. He pants for breath as Xiao Zhan mouths along his cheekbone. His yelp when Xiao Zhan locates his prostate makes the older man smile against his cheek.

“Gonna make you fall apart for me,” Xiao Zhan whispers as he rubs his fingers in a circular motion over his prostate. His arm tightens to keep Yibo motionless and trapped. “Love seeing you become a mess for me, Yibo. Turns me on so much.”

Of course Yibo wants Xiao Zhan to enjoy this and to feel good, but it comes at his expense and it’s kind of a mind fuck in that regard. Gritting his teeth, he clutches Xiao Zhan’s sides and tries not to make any embarrassing noises. But it’s a losing proposition because Xiao Zhan caresses his prostate relentlessly. A whine rolls up Yibo’s throat and he manages to swallow it down, but the moan that follows spills out because Xiao Zhan now has three fingers in his ass and taps them at that terribly sensitive spot inside him.

“God!” Yibo chokes out. “You’re killing me.”

“Good,” Xiao Zhan whispers into his ear and then he licks, slow and sensually, down the side of his jaw. “Keep talking, puppy. Want to hear it all.”

This is when Yibo wants to resist. He doesn’t like appearing weak, and whimpering and crying sounds pretty weak to him. But then Xiao Zhan lifts his hips beneath Yibo, pushing his cock against Yibo’s hip, and he feels how hard the older man is. Xiao Zhan feels like pure steel and Yibo knows it’s all because of him.

“Please,” he gasps, letting go of his inhibitions. “Please, Zhan-ge. I need you to fuck me. I need your cock. I need it so deep.”

Xiao Zhan’s breath grows harsh against Yibo’s ear. “Yeah?” he whispers.

Yibo clenches his inner muscles around Xiao Zhan’s fingers, giving him a taste. “Need to be fucked so hard, Zhan-ge. Can you do it? Can you fuck me like that?”

A shiver rips through Xiao Zhan. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He withdraws his fingers and unlocks his ankles from around Yibo’s legs. “Hands and knees for me, puppy. Gonna give you what you need now.”

Yibo scrambles to obey while Xiao Zhan slicks himself with the lube. Once Yibo’s in position, his cock clinging tight to his belly, Xiao Zhan kneels behind him. He places his hands on Yibo’s hips, though they don’t remain there. They slide up his sides, feeling skin and muscle, curving up around his shoulders and then down either side of his spine.

“We need to get more noodles into you,” Xiao Zhan says with a tsk.

“Feed me by hand,” Yibo says with a smirk sent over his shoulder. “I’ll eat until I burst.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like the idea of feeding you.” Xiao Zhan bends forward and kisses the top of his spine. Yibo lets his head hang down. “Pushing a sweet strawberry between your lips.” _kiss_ “A juicy slice of pork.” _kiss_ “Spreading the oil over your tongue…” _kiss_ “Dripping juices down the back of your throat…”

Yibo squirms, feeling a little silly for getting turned on hearing about food.

“For now, I’ll fill you from this end.”

Yibo breathes shallowly as Xiao Zhan pushes past his rim. Xiao Zhan is big in a way that scatters Yibo’s thoughts, leaving him able to focus only on sensation.

“Even with stretching…you’re so damn tight,” Xiao Zhan groans, sliding deeper.

He bottoms out, taking up all the room he can inside Yibo. It’s overwhelming and too much and just enough. Yibo bites his bottom lip as Xiao Zhan begins to fuck into him, each hot slide opening Yibo further. He moans and his elbows bend, putting a curve into his back as his chest sinks lower.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Xiao Zhan says raggedly. “Beautiful like this.”

“May I—can I—” Yibo shudders, fingers clenching in the sheet.

“Sorry, my little didi,” Xiao Zhan says, his voice low and anything but apologetic. “You’ll cum this way or not at all.”

Yibo groans, partly in misery but also partly because he loves it when Xiao Zhan forces him to orgasm this way. There’s a filthiness to coming untouched—as though when he does it he’s confirming that he’s some kind of slut. It’s him proving to Xiao Zhan that all he needs is Xiao Zhan’s cock, even if the truth is far more complicated than that.

He spreads his knees and lifts his ass, inviting Xiao Zhan closer though he’s already stuffed to the root inside Yibo. Xiao Zhan take a handful of his hair and pulls, arching Yibo’s neck and spine. It brings Xiao Zhan in at a slightly different angle and Yibo moans for it. It feels like his cock never leaves Yibo’s prostate, keeping maddening pressure against it.

“How’s that?” Xiao Zhan asks. His voice is deeper and rougher at the tail end, as though he’s beginning to climb that hill. He snaps his hips and the sound is wet and dirty, almost frothy. 

“Little puppy likes it deep,” Xiao Zhan pants, giving him exactly what he describes. “He likes to _feel_ it.”

“Nnh! Yes. Yes,” Yibo chants, eyes squeezed shut. All the rubbing on his prostate has kept him hard but he’s beginning to feel that special tingle in his balls that tells him he’s reaching a tipping point. It’s a wild, electric feeling that’s nearly painful in its intensity. But there’s no escaping it. Xiao Zhan fucks him without mercy, driving right to the place Yibo needs him.

His head falls forward when Xiao Zhan releases his hair. He’s a little disappointed but then his breath catches when fingers hook in the back of his collar. It puts pressure against his Adam’s apple and Yibo had no idea until now that it’s a trigger for him.

He lets out a garbled sound as his cock snaps tight against his belly.

“Cum,” Xiao Zhan orders firmly. He tugs on the collar as he grinds up hard against Yibo’s ass. “Cum on my cock, good puppy.”

Yibo clamps down on him as the collar tightens. The strip of leather feels like a handle, like reins, and the mere thought of Xiao Zhan controlling him in such a way sends Yibo spinning. His orgasm comes from deep inside, from where Xiao Zhan is embedded inside him. He cries out as wave after wave of pressure rolls over him, forcing his release out of him in a series of violent spurts.

The collar tightens a few centimeters more, as if Xiao Zhan has clenched it, and then he’s groaning and shoving into Yibo hard and holding there, filling him. Yibo gasps as he listens to Xiao Zhan’s long moan of satisfaction. It sounds a lot like the song he’s been hearing in his head.

They remain locked tight for several long seconds, riding out the aftershocks. Xiao Zhan is hot inside him. Yibo can feel his heartbeat through his cock and it’s racing as fast as his own. At last, Xiao Zhan carefully pulls out. He pauses to push his thumb into Yibo, making Yibo whimper, before gently patting Yibo’s ass. “Good puppy.”

Yibo takes that as permission and collapses to the bed, uncaring that he’s lying on the wet spot. Xiao Zhan hits the mattress beside him and Yibo is quick to throw a possessive arm across his pale, sweating chest.

“Too good,” Yibo mumbles against his shoulder. “Every time, I think I’m gonna die from how good it is.”

“I’ll take that compliment,” Xiao Zhan says, still breathless. He turns his head and kisses the top of Yibo’s head. “You bring out the animal in me, Yibo.”

Laughing softly, Yibo lifts his head so their lips can meet. “Maybe you’re the one who needs the collar.”

Xiao Zhan laughs, flashing his rabbit teeth. “No way. It looks best on you.” His sweet smile returns. “It’s meant for my puppy, who may be collared, but will never be tamed.”

“Corny,” Yibo teases him.

Xiao Zhan shrugs. “I’m only good at the dirty talk.”

“No way. You’re good at everything. You’re so—” Yibo snorts. “Wait, are we starting?”

Xiao Zhan snickers. “Yibo, I don’t think we ever stopped.”


	2. Yin Zheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The segment of Day Day Up in which they filmed at the racetrack was done for Yibo’s twenty-second birthday, but for the purposes of this fic, Yibo is nineteen, the age when he befriended Yin Zheng and began riding with him.
> 
> This fic is inspired by this video taken at the racetrack during that event.  
> https://twitter.com/rosehasatwt/status/1224314593519886336
> 
> Tags for this chapter: explicit sex (not really explicit, but I'm being safe), Rated E

“You’re just going to ignore them? They came all this way for you.”

“I waved at them,” Yibo says, a bit lamely.

“You need to give them more than that.”

Yin Zheng is behind him. Yibo turns, trying to keep track of him as they drift toward the crowd of fans that have been allowed into this special episode of Day Day Up which is being filmed at the racetrack. Yin Zheng pulls his right glove off and then his hand is on the back of Yibo’s neck, warm and slightly sweaty, squeezing in a way that makes Yibo’s knees turn to jelly. When Yin Zheng gives him a push, Yibo flows easily beneath the directive as though it were his decision all along.

He doesn’t know what to do once he’s in front of the fans. He reflexively sticks his hand out. The fans scream and reach out to touch him and so he goes with it, walking down the line as they call his name. Someone thanks Yin Zheng, like he’s responsible for Yibo and gave Yibo to them as a gift. That concept—that he’s something of Yin Zheng’s—leaves him flustered in a way he knows he’ll think about later. 

He’s not great with conversation with people who only want to film him, so he asks the fans about the weather and suggests that they stay hydrated while he fiddles with the strap on his helmet. His mind isn’t really on what he’s saying. He’s still thinking of how it felt when Yin Zheng squeezed his neck as though it were no big deal, as though touching Yibo were his right. 

When the awkwardness with the fans grows too much for Yibo, he waves again and drifts back to the safety of the hangar. Yin Zheng joins him, a knowing smile tilting his lips.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It wasn’t easy or comfortable, but Yibo wants to please him so he days, “It was okay.” 

The discomfort is worth it when Yin Zheng says, “Good boy.”

~~~~~

Yin Zheng will say, let’s go riding. Or, lets get something to eat. Or, put on something warm, we’re going here. Yibo is always grateful for his directness. It’s not that he doesn’t have opinions of his own or that he needs to be bossed around. He can find a way to enjoy himself when he’s in Yin Zheng’s company no matter what they do, so it’s more important to him that Ying Zheng is happy with the choice of activity. Yibo simply wants to be included in his plans. What he feels for his friend is very probably hero worship.

So when Yin Zheng one night texts him with **dress sexy we’re going riding** , Yibo doesn’t question it. He only scurries to obey.

He interprets sexy as leather. He has nice trousers and a jacket, both gifts from a photoshoot. The jacket is black with swathes of deep red that paint a V aimed at his groin. The cut of it accents the breadth of his shoulders and the slimness of his waist. The trousers are fitted and leave little to the imagination. He’s not sure why he needs to look so good for riding motorcycles, but he doesn’t question it. Yin Zheng can be impulsive and silly. He’s always surprising Yibo and that’s exciting.

Yin Zheng has asked Yibo to meet him at his home. When Yibo arrives there, the older man is in the driveway standing beside his own motorcycle. Yibo is relieved to see that he hasn’t over- or underdressed in comparison to the older man. Yin Zheng is in all black leather and there’s a hint of eyeliner at the corners of his eyes. Yibo is intrigued.

“Hey, I’m all dolled up,” Yin Zheng says accusingly. “Why aren’t you?”

Surprised, because he’d thought his outfit was appropriate, Yibo says, “What should I have worn instead?”

“I’m not talking about your clothes.” The way Yin Zheng checks him out warms Yibo’s cheeks and he’s glad that it’s nighttime. “Come with me. We can do this quick.”

He leads Yibo into his house and into the master bathroom. Yin Zheng is an unrepentant otaku and even his bathroom is decorated with anime-inspired products. He pulls out a makeup palette featuring Pikachu and orders Yibo to sit down.

“You’re too tall for me, kid,” Yin Zheng mutters. Once Yibo has sat, he hooks a finger beneath Yibo’s chin and tilts it up. “Look up.”

Yibo obeys, shocked that Yin Zheng applies not only eyeliner and shadow to his face, but also lipstick.

“Skin like a baby’s butt,” Yin Zheng teases him with a swipe of his pinky finger across Yibo’s cheek.

Yibo smiles shyly at the teasing before looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t know what to think about the makeup job his friend has applied. Yin Zheng has made him attractive in a way that screams ‘look at me.’ He’s also made Yibo look kind of pretty.

“It’s a little much,” Yibo says diplomatically. “Where are we going that I need to look like this?”

“You look perfect, what are you talking about?” Yin Zheng says dismissively. “Come on. We’re late.”

“You’re riding with me,” he says when they’re outside again. Yibo nods, but Yin Zheng catches him by the arm when he moves toward his own bike. “No, I mean you’re riding with me. Behind me.”

Yibo is startled. Though he and Yin Zheng have taken turns driving each other on scooters around the track, it was only to get quickly from one place to another or in fun. Taking a long ride on the back of a motorcycle is something passengers do. Neither of them considers himself a passenger.

Seeing his hesitation, Yin Zheng smirks at him. “It’s okay, otouto. It’s for a good reason. I’m not making fun of you.”

The Japanese word for little brother tickles Yibo’s belly and unties the confusion in his brain. He trusts Yin Zheng, so if this is what Yibo needs to do, he’ll do it.

Still, he feels funny as he mounts up behind Yin Zheng. It must be the clothes he’s wearing or the makeup on his face. Yibo doesn’t feel like himself and Yin Zheng doesn’t feel like Yin Zheng as Yibo wraps his arms around his waist and grips his opposite wrist. They’re two strangers and it’s weird. Yibo’s heartrate won’t slow down.

Yin Zheng drives them downtown but doesn’t stop there. They pass through the city, heading to the outskirts, to the base of the mountains. The roads are longer out here, the traffic reduced primarily to trucks transporting goods. There aren’t many of those at this time of night, though, and Yin Zheng takes advantage, upping his speed and leaning into the curves. Yibo wishes he were riding his own bike. This would be a great ride.

But soon, Yin Zheng slows down and Yibo notices why. Around the next turn he can see lights striping the mountainside. When they round the curve they come upon at least two dozen motorcycles and their riders, parked in the overlook of the highway. It’s here that Yin Zheng brings them and parks.

It’s a wonderland of motorcycles. Yibo has never seen so many in one place outside of a showroom or the track. He dismounts and distractedly hands his helmet to Yin Zheng before submitting to the allure of this gathering. He wants to dash from bike to bike, asking questions of their owners about modifications and specs and what it’s like to ride them.

“Don’t wander off without me,” Yin Zheng says, clapping a hand on Yibo’s shoulder and holding him back. “Stick by my side, okay, Yibo? It’s important.”

Something is odd in his tone and it breaks Yibo’s fascination with the motorcycles. “What is it, aniki?” he asks, using the Japanese term for older brother.

Yin Zheng only smiles and shakes his head. “Just stick by my side. Don’t let anyone lure you away.” His gaze lingers on Yibo for a long moment and it seems like he wants to say more, but in the end he steers Yibo forward by the hand on his shoulder.

The riders here are dressed similarly to Yin Zheng. Most are in black. Only a few sport colors like Yibo. Everyone is fit and good-looking for the most part, and greet Yin Zheng by name or seem to recognize him from the scene.

Yin Zheng doesn’t stop long to talk to any of them, even if he appears to knows them. He seems intent on making a circuit to see who’s there. At least, that’s Yibo’s first impression. As they continue, he begins to think something else.

He notices that the majority of the men here—and they’re all men—are accompanied by a second rider. The second rider is always younger. Always. The second rider is also frequently…prettier. Yibo doesn’t like to characterize a group that way, but it seems to fit. He’s very aware that it also applies to him.

Midway through their circuit, he thinks he gets it: Yin Zheng isn’t looking for anyone, he’s making his presence known and showing that he’s brought Yibo. He’s displaying him. This becomes more apparent when one of the riders gives Yibo a less than subtle once-over and Yin Zheng responds by curling his hand across the back of Yibo’s neck just like at the track. Just as then, he steers Yibo in another direction.

When all the pieces slot into place Yibo is alternately embarrassed, scandalized, and flattered. In none of his wildest fantasies had he imagined Yin Zheng viewing him as his trophy. They’re good friends and Yibo sees Ying Zheng as a mentor, but he’d be lying if he said tonight doesn’t make him lift the lid on a secret he’s kept boxed up for months.

They make a second circuit. This time Yin Zheng slows to talk to the riders he’s friends with and point out bikes and features to Yibo. Though he’s a kid in a candy shop with all the gear and knowledge surrounding him, it takes effort for Yibo to focus on what Yin Zheng is saying and ignore the speculative looks he’s given. It’s weird to meet the eyes of a second rider and realize he’s supposed to find camaraderie with the other man. It brings a flush to his cheeks when he looks at a main rider and reads blatant sexual appreciation on the older man’s face. Often he’s looked at with hunger, and every time this happens Yin Zheng’s hand finds its way to the back of Yibo’s neck to cup him in a way Yibo now understands is possessive.

Yibo’s pants grow tighter as he allows himself to dwell on the idea that here, he’s Yin Zheng’s property. Yibo has been with other boys. He’s never been with a man. After all, he hasn’t been one himself for very long. But in the end, the only difference with older males is their level of experience, and it excites him to consider how much more of it Yin Zheng must have.

When a rider, after chatting with Yin Zheng about their bikes, takes an appreciative look at Yibo and says, “Your boy is beautiful, Yin Zheng. You’re a lucky man,” Yibo locks gazes with his friend.

There’s a touch of fear in Yin Zheng’s eyes. Self-doubt softens his mouth. The premise of this evening wasn’t something they’d ever talked about or hinted at, and now it’s out in the open. Yibo can tell that Yin Zheng is holding his breath, waiting to see if Yibo will reject this, will reject _him_. Yibo can walk back to his bike and demand to be taken back to the city. 

Or, he can do what he does, which is sidle closer to Yin Zheng until their shoulders press together, wordlessly accepting the role this stranger has identified for him.

Yin Zheng’s hand finds him again, but this time it curls around Yibo’s waist and settles firmly on his hip, fingers curled around his hipbone. Yibo shivers. He prays he doesn’t cum in his fancy leather trousers. 

“You should see him dance,” Yin Zheng tells the man proudly. "He made me look like an old man on TV!"

Yibo has heard endless compliments about his dancing from dozens of people, but this one hits him differently. He turns his head toward Yin Zheng and dips it, very slightly, in deferment to the older man. _I am a good dancer,_ he thinks. _But most of all, I’m Yin Zheng’s dancer._

His friend’s fingers dig into his hip bone as though he knows.

They stay ten minutes longer, so Yin Zheng can introduce Yibo to more friends. Yin Zheng is playful with them now and laughs often. He’s relaxed, and Yibo smiles back when Yin Zheng tugs him close and grins proudly. He can be this, Yibo decides. He _wants_ to be this, both for Yin Zheng and for the secret side of him he’s hidden for so long.

When at last they head back to Yin Zheng’s bike, Yibo has difficulty walking thanks to the tight fit of his pants and the uncomfortable cramping of his hard-on. Yin Zheng glances down to see what’s the matter with him. The grin he shoots Yibo when he figures it out is both gleeful and sharp with open desire.

“Poor little otouto,” he teases and pats Yibo on the ass. His hand lingers, fingers following the curve of his buttock before falling away. “Too much testosterone for you? Or is it the bikes that have you hard?”

“Maybe all of it,” Yibo admits. He takes a deep breath and adds bashfully, “Maybe just you. Us.”

Yin Zheng stares deeply into his eyes. Without a word he hooks a hand behind Yibo’s neck and tugs him down. This is not like the previous claims of ownership. Yibo is dragged all the way to the older man’s mouth.

Yin Zheng’s lips are thin, but he knows how to use them to spread Yibo’s apart. The tongue he slides inside Yibo’s mouth makes him gasp and clutch at Yin Zheng’s sides. He fantasizes about doing things he’s never done before...and then doing them again.

“My cute and handsome otouto,” Yin Zheng whispers into his mouth. He kisses Yibo deeply, until Yibo’s legs begin to tremble and he thinks about taking off all the leather he’s wearing.

But Yin Zheng breaks away, laughing at his shattered reaction. He even ruffles Yibo’s hair like he sometimes does on the track.

“Come on,” he says in a voice that’s deliciously husky, “I’ll let you drive it back.”

Yibo gapes at him. Neither of them lets others drive their bikes, ever. Their bikes are their babies. But Yin Zheng is holding up the keys and Yibo knows better than to hesitate. He snatches them with a grin and quickly mounts up. Yin Zheng slides on behind him, thighs tight around Yibo’s hips, arms secure around his waist.

The curvy road is as fun as he’d thought it would be, and Yibo’s grin is wide as he navigates it. He feels like he’s traveling faster than the gauge states, and the strong vibration of the bike feels more intense tonight. Or maybe everything feels heightened because he’s so acutely aware of the man wrapped around him from behind.

Yin Zheng doesn’t do anything inappropriate. It’s too dangerous while they’re driving. But the simple clench of his thighs around Yibo’s hips brings up images and fantasies Yibo can’t control. He catches himself arching his back to press his groin against the vibrating tank and to push his ass into the cradle of Yin Zheng’s thighs. He doesn’t think he’d do something so suggestive if he weren’t wearing his helmet. But he’s granted some degree of protection because of it and besides, he wants Yin Zheng to know that he’s one hundred percent onboard with this.

When Yibo admires someone the way he admires Yin Zheng, he yearns to be worthy of their attention. Since he was a trainee, he’s craved approval from the people he feels are important. He thought he’d already gotten that approval when Yin Zheng took him under his wing for racing. He’s discovered that being a focus of Yin Zheng’s desire, being someone Yin Zheng wants to show off to others, is a million times more essential.

By the time he pulls into the driveway of Yin Zheng’s house, Yibo is vibrating as much as the bike engine right before he shuts it off. His legs feel like pudding, which doesn’t happen anymore now that he rides so often. But he’s afraid to dismount, afraid his legs will give way beneath him, so he only knocks the kickstand into place and waits, as he should, for Yin Zheng to get off first.

Yin Zheng makes no such move to do so.

Yibo feels a tug and looks down to see Yin Zheng’s fingers working on the snap of his trousers. Yibo gasps loudly as the zipper lowers and a warm hand slides inside to cup his erection through his underwear. They’re facing Yin Zheng’s garage, so no one should be able to see what’s happening from the street. They’re also both still wearing helmets, making them unrecognizable. Still…it’s risky, and that’s flattering on every level. Yin Zheng wants him so badly he’s willing to risk exposure—Yibo can barely wrap his mind around it.

Then he doesn’t even try, because all thoughts fly away as Yin Zhen squeezes his cock. Yibo bucks like a little kid being touched for the first time. It’s embarrassing, but Yin Zheng seems to like it because he squeezes harder and his thighs tighten around Yibo’s hips. The arm he has around Yibo’s waist becomes an iron band. No matter how much Yibo thrashes, he won’t be getting away.

He doesn’t want to. He braces his hands on the tank and lets his head fall forward, dragged down by the weight of his helmet. When Yin Zheng trades squeezing him through his underwear with sliding beneath the fabric and wrapping a gloved hand around his naked cock, Yibo moans and hears the subtle change in the air that indicates he’s activated the helmet to helmet communication system.

“Yibo,” Yin Zheng says through the com. “You like this, otouto?”

He slides up tighter behind Yibo. His fingers are devilish even through the heavy leather gloves. Yibo doesn’t mind the gloves at all. They make him think of motorcycles and when he thinks of motorcycles he thinks of Yin Zheng, and when he thinks of Yin Zheng, he thinks of…this. It’s a perfect loop.

“Tell me, Yibo. You like what I’m doing to you?”

“Yes, Zheng-ge,” Yibo pants. He clenches his eyes shut when leather strokes him from tip to base and up again. The rhythm is irresistible and he begins to roll his hips into it. Soon, Yin Zheng and he are in perfect sync. From the side it might look like Yibo is humping the bike.

But he’s not. He’s humping Yin Zheng’s hand and it’s glorious. He doesn’t try to keep silent. He whimpers unashamedly, turned on knowing that Yin Zheng can hear him. And he can tell the older man enjoys the way he sounds. The more he whimpers, the faster Yin Zheng strokes him and the tighter his arm cinches around Yibo’s waist.

“Hold on a minute,” Yin Zheng says. He abruptly pulls his hand out of Yibo’s pants.

Yibo blinks his eyes open with a choked sound of protest. His balls are drawn up tight. He’s not very far from release. If Yin Zheng puts a stop to this Yibo is going to have the world’s worst case of blue balls. 

Thankfully, Yin Zhan has no such intentions. The older man’s glove tumbles onto the concrete near the front wheel and then his hand is back in Yibo’s pants, except this time it’s bare.

His palm is hot and sweaty, just like it was on the track that day when he manhandled Yibo to talk to his fans. Yibo thinks about how it felt on the back of his neck and he imagines it there again, guiding him down to his knees between Yin Zheng’s legs. He imagines taking his friend into his mouth, deep all the way to his balls. He imagines Yin Zheng telling him how good he is, how good he’s always been…

“Yin Zheng,” he moans as his cock lurches.

“Tell me,” the older man urges, seeming to pick up on his new urgency. He circles the head of Yibo’s cock with his thumb. “Tell me how good it is, otouto.”

“It’s good,” Yibo moans as he rolls his hips. “Thank you, Zhen-ge. Thank you.”

“You’re a good little brother, Yibo. So cute. So handsome.” Yin Zheng tugs him back against his chest. “Want you to be mine if you’re okay with that.”

“You don’t even…have to ask,” Yibo pants. He doesn’t think he’s ever uttered truer words. He reaches back and hugs Yin Zheng awkwardly. “I want to be everything to you.”

“Ah, otouto. You already are.”

His fingers do something clever at the base of Yibo’s cock, tickling and caressing his balls, and that’s it for Yibo. His cry is loud across the com as he spills over Yin Zheng’s jerking hand. His helmet hits the tank with a dull thud when he curls forward. 

Yin Zheng is gentle with Yibo as his body twitches with orgasm. He keeps Yibo upright when his body tilts precariously to the side.

“Whoa, Yibo,” he says with a light laugh as he steadies him. “Don’t crash after we made it this far.”

Yibo giggles and slowly straightens up. Yin Zheng’s hand is still in his pants, petting him with affection. When he sees that Yibo has recovered, Yin Zheng carefully tucks him away and does up his trousers for him.

“Help me push the bike into the basement,” he tells Yibo before he dismounts.

As the garage door goes up, Yibo kicks up the stand and climbs off so he can push the bike inside. His underwear is sticky and he feels antsy and energized, so when Yin Zheng casually adds, “Bring your bike inside, too,” he eagerly complies, knowing it means he’s spending the night.

The wait for the garage door to go down again seems to take forever. Long enough, anyway, for Yibo to lose patience. He pulls off his helmet and presses Yin Zheng against the house door. He can’t hear Yin Zheng without the helmet com, so Yibo flips up the older man’s visor and finds his friend grinning widely within the helmet.

“Something you want, Yibo?” Yin Zheng teases.

“This.” Yibo kisses him wetly and reaches for the other man’s button and zipper.

But Yin Zheng laughs and guides his hand down to cup him through the leather before covering Yibo’s hand with his own. “It won’t take long,” he whispers.

He’s not exaggerating. Yibo gets in only a handful of good squeezes, measuring the girth and length of him, before Yin Zheng groans and begins coming. Yibo kisses him through it, feeling proud and horny and so, so grateful.

A squeeze to Yibo’s butt is Yin Zheng’s signal that he’s done. He looks flushed and happy as he looks up at Yibo. “Come inside. We’ll clean up and prepare dinner. I'm starving!”

They shower together. Yibo and he laugh throughout it while they wash each other’s hair and fool around a bit more. Yibo ends up on his knees at some point and it’s as good as he imagined it. Bringing Yin Zheng to orgasm feels nearly as satisfying as winning a race.

Yin Zheng wants to make noodles, and he makes them with all the fixings. Yibo is soon cradling a bowl overflowing with egg, pork, and vegetables while Yin Zheng puts Shingeki no Kyojin on his big TV.

“This is the best series,” he tells Yibo enthusiastically as he drags Yibo onto the couch with him. “You’ll love Levi. He’s an awesome character. And he's hot for Erwin. No one can tell me differently.”

And Yibo does love the anime and he thinks Levi is indeed badass and likely sleeping with Erwin, but most of all he’s happy to be tucked beneath the arm of a man he admires.

“You doing okay, otouto?” Yin Zheng asks him softly, somewhere around episode eight.

He isn’t asking about the show or the food or about the temperature of the room.

Yibo finds the courage to rest his hand on Yin Zheng’s thigh. “I love everything about this, aniki.”

Yin Zheng ruffles his hair with affection. “I knew all along you’d be a good brother.”


	3. Valentino Rossi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino Rossi is an Italian MotoGP racer whom Yibo loves above all others, lol. I'm pretty confident he would say yes if Rossi proposed marriage to him.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Yibo being a fanboy, rated T.

Monster Energy drink had been pursuing Yibo for years. They’d been in contact with his agent in 2018, and he was aware of them retweeting his posts over the years and making less than subtle suggestions that his racing uniform was missing the signature Monster claws. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to accept their endorsement. It was right up his alley, as a matter of fact. But endorsement deals back then hadn’t been up to him. Every decision made regarding who he endorsed and whose clothes he wore was made by management. He was merely the talent who jumped when he was told to jump.

That changed in 2019 after The Untamed. Thanks to his ability to push himself and his agency into profit, he obtained some power. He was allowed to give input about which products and sponsors he accepted and he could decline smaller companies that he felt didn’t align well with his image or beliefs. He flexed this power only rarely, though, because he didn’t care so much about the business side of the industry. But apparently the news of his newly gained ability spread into the commercial sector.

He was at his hotel in Hengdian after a day of filming Legend of Fei, when his manager brought in the fanmail that had been mailed to him there, along with a package that immediately caught his eye.

It was a poster tube. Inside it was a Monster Energy Drink promotional poster. The claw logo featured prominently in one corner and was plastered all over the motorcycle racer who was the subject of the poster. 

It was a cool action shot, but it wasn’t until Yibo recognized who the racer was that he inhaled sharply. It was Valentino Rossi, his idol of idols, the man Yibo would give his soul to meet. But even more than that, the poster was signed!

“Holy shit!” Yibo yelled, because above Valentino Rossi’s autograph was an inscription written in silver Sharpie: _Ciao, Yibo!_

Yibo passed out for several seconds, or else he had some kind of episode, because he somehow ended up on the floor after being seated on the end of his hotel bed. As he sat sprawled there, he stared agog at the words that Valentino Rossi, nine-time Grand Prix racing champion, had written for _him_.

“Ciao, Yibo,” he whispered as his shaking fingers hovered above the inscription. He didn’t dare touch it. Silver Sharpie ink had a tendency to smear and there was _no way_ he was going to smear such precious words.

_Ciao, Yibo._

He’d listened to every one of Rossi’s interviews that he could find online. Yibo could hear Rossi’s voice in his head perfectly, speaking the magical words, _Ciao, Yibo._

How did Rossi know of him? Had Monster Energy told the Italian racer that he was Yibo’s hero? Had they asked Rossi to try to convince Yibo to join their endorsement team? Or—and Yibo whimpered at the mere thought of it—had Rossi seen his racing videos and been impressed by Yibo’s dedication and wanted to encourage him?

He was hard. He knew it before he shoved a hand in his track pants and gripped himself. Valentino Rossi had had Yibo's name in his head while he’d written out that inscription. Maybe Rossi had even been smiling a little while he wrote it?

Yibo groaned and stroked himself faster.

It would have been wild if Rossi had maybe had Yibo’s racing videos playing in the background while he signed the poster. And what if—what if Rossi had been curious about this young Asian racer and decided to click on one of the non-racing videos that YouTube would have suggested to him? For example, what if he’d clicked on one of Yibo’s dancing videos?

“Oh, fuck,” Yibo moaned as he jerked himself faster. His hips began to lift off the floor.

If Rossi had seen his dance videos, he _definitely_ would have been impressed. It wouldn’t be outlandish if the Italian racer had been so amazed by Yibo’s skill that he’d gone straight to Monster Energy and demanded to know why this hot, up and coming racing superstar and dancer wasn’t a part of the ME team. After all, Rossi supported and surrounded himself with the best, so he’d want Yibo there, too, right? Right? That would explain the little greeting— _Ciao, Yibo!_ —that Rossi didn’t write for just anyone. Only to people who mattered to him. People he wanted to train alongside, or race with, maybe get to know better by phone …

It really wasn’t a stretch to imagine Rossi calling him right now. He could have timed it that way, so Yibo would receive the poster and get excited and then boom! A phone call—or better yet a video call, so they could meet and chat, learn more about each other.

Yibo tipped his head back, his breath coming faster as he thought about what Rossi would say to him. He’d probably compliment Yibo on his dancing and singing and then segue into his racing. Maybe he’d have some tips for Yibo or better yet, he’d offer to show Yibo in person because a lot of racing was positional and only if Rossi got his hands on him, guiding Yibo’s legs and hips so he was bent over properly, would Yibo truly understand. It might take a few sessions of that, of Rossi manipulating Yibo’s body so he really _felt_ how it was to be in position.

“Si, Yibo,” he’d say in heavily accented English as he pushed down on the small of Yibo’s back to encourage him to sink lower. “Just like that. You’re doing fantastico. You’re my best student. We should race the Mugello Circuit together, you and I.”

And Yibo would be so grateful he’d look up and their eyes would meet and Rossi would lean closer, his lips curving into a smile just before they—

“Gah!” Yibo came so hard it was like he’d been thrown off his bike going into the final turn. He lost all control of his limbs as he ejaculated. When he finally finished, he collapsed on the floor and lay there, gasping for breath. But only for a moment. With a cry, he sat up and checked the poster, but no, he hadn’t wrinkled or stained it, thank god. With a huge sigh of relief, he slumped back against the bed, gazing rapturously at his poster.

As an afterthought, he pulled the poster tube over and upended it. A curled piece of paper fell out of it into his lap. On it was a handwritten note.

**Wouldn’t you like to join our team, Yibo? We take good care of our members. There may be some perks in it for you…  
**

Whoever had written the note had added a winking smiley face, as if…as if….

“Perks,” he whispered, eyes widening with understanding. He grabbed his phone and dialed up his agent. It was time to flex his economic muscles. It was time to start selling the hell out of some energy drinks.


	4. Liu Haikuan/Wang Zhuocheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first threesome! Though we're starting out mild ;)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: threesome, slight hurt/comfort, references to Xiao Zhan/Yibo, rated T

Liu Haikuan smiled when he heard the latch give way on the door. He’d taped it to ensure it would remain unlocked even while closed.

“Kuan-ge?”

He blinked, uncomprehending, for all of two seconds before he sat upright in bed. “Yibo?”

He couldn’t visually identify the dark figure standing in the doorway because for some reason the hallway light was out.

“Yibo, are you okay? Come in,” Haikuan urged. 

“You said…” Yibo closed the door behind him, his words trailing off. He didn’t move.

Haikuan waited patiently, but Yibo remained still and silent. 

“What’s wrong, Yibo? What did I say?”

“The power is out,” Yibo said faintly.

A belated check of the hotel clock on the desk revealed that it was indeed black. Haikuan had had no idea. But he very swiftly understood the problem.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Can I—would you mind if I slept on your floor, Kuan-ge?”

Haikuan was so shocked it took him a second to respond. “Absolutely not, Yibo!”

“Oh. Okay.”

Yibo’s dark figure turned to open the door.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, I mean,” Haikuan hastened to clarify. “This bed is more than big enough. You’re sleeping up here.”

“Are you sure?”

Even if Haikuan had had doubts, they would have vanished upon hearing the anxious hope in Yibo’s voice. 

Everyone in the cast knew about Yibo’s fear of the dark since he’d made no secret of it. He wasn’t ashamed that he needed to leave a light on and frequently left the TV on as well so he could fall asleep.

But hearing about his hang-up and experiencing it firsthand was a bit of a shock for Haikuan, though he quickly got over it. He could tell his younger friend was in dire need of some comfort.

“I’m sure,” he said firmly. He scooted over, bringing himself closer to the edge of the mattress, and patted the bed behind him. “You take this side, near the windows. We’ll open the curtains and let in the moonlight.”

“Too many clouds tonight,” Yibo mumbled, but he was already hurrying around the bed and climbing up beside Haikuan. He slid beneath the sheet. “Sorry, Kuan-ge. I didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’re fine. I told you you could come to me, didn’t I?”

“About other things,” Yibo said, barely audible. “You didn’t mean this.”

Haikuan rolled onto his side, putting his back to Yibo to give him some privacy. “I meant everything, not just about Xiao Zhan.” He paused. “Was there a reason you didn’t go to his room?”

Yibo was silent for so long that Haikuan thought he’d fallen asleep. Then,

“He said we should take a break from each other. Said we’re moving too fast. We should wait until filming is finished and see how we feel then.”

Haikuan frowned in the dark. Yibo and Xiao Zhan _were_ moving fast, but it was because they had such intense chemistry. Everyone on the set could see it and feel it. Why fight the inevitable? While a break wasn’t the end of the world, Haikuan worried about his friends’ state of mind for the remaining two and a half months of filming. Yibo, especially, seemed like he was going to be a mess having to work so closely with someone whom he very clearly loved but was denied.

Haikuan wished he could give his younger friend advice, but he wasn’t exactly in a position of authority when it came to love matters these days. It didn’t matter if he left his door open at night if it wasn’t opened by the person he hoped would open it.

Though he was glad he’d been available tonight. Poor didi. Haikuan couldn’t help rolling onto his back to check on him. Yibo was huddled in the middle of the bed rather than on his side, as though he’d been seeking physical comfort. At Haikuan’s turning, Yibo started to shift away. 

“Don’t,” Haikuan said softly. “It’s okay with me if you want to keep close. Having someone near can chase away the darkest shadows.”

Yibo settled on his stomach again, his face turned to Haikuan and his hand resting next to Haikuan’s shoulder. “Thank you, gege. I promise this won’t happen again.”

“Even if it happened every night until end of filming it would be alright. Relax and get some sleep. We’ve got an early call tomorrow.”

“I do,” Yibo murmured around a yawn. “You don’t need to be in until two hours later.”

“Oh. I must have misread the sheet.” Haikuan smiled into the dark. “It will be nice to sleep in a little for once.”

“Mmm.”

Haikuan turned his head and smiled at finding Yibo’s eyes closed and his lips slightly parted as he drifted into sleep. He really was cute. Even though they were only acting the role of siblings, it was impossible for Haikuan not to feel brotherly affection for Yibo. When he wasn’t acting like a maniac with Xiao Zhan, Yibo was quiet and timid. It was second nature to Haikuan to want to take care of him.

He let his shoulder relax a little more, until it came into contact with Yibo’s hand. He hoped the contact would subconsciously help Yibo to sleep.

It seemed to help himself, anyway, because the next thing he knew he was blinking his eyes open again. What had woken him?

A loud bang made him gasp. Was that thunder? That might explain why the power had gone out. Suddenly, he was aware of heat pressed all along his left side. Yibo had rolled completely against him and buried his face beneath Haikuan’s shoulder. He was shivering and at the next clap of thunder, he yelped into the mattress.

Haikuan reached for him. “Yibo, it’s—”

A ghostly white face appeared above him. Haikuan screamed. Beside him, Yibo wailed in terror.

“No, no, it’s only me!” Wang Zhuocheng exclaimed, both hands raised to show he meant no harm. “It’s me! The door was open. I thought—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Haikuan pressed a hand to his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m so sorry. I should have knocked, or—”

Haikuan shook his head. “No, it’s alright.” Now that his heartbeat was beginning to slow down, he could appreciate what was happening. “I’m glad you came.”

Zhuocheng smiled back, bashfully. “You said you’d leave it open if I ever…So, um, here I am.”

Haikuan couldn’t believe his good fortune. “That’s wonderful. I—” He started to sit up but discovered his arm was fully engulfed by one Wang Yibo, who was still pressed against his side. “Oh. I forgot. Um…”

Zhuocheng raised both eyebrows as he leaned forward to see past Haikuan. “Is that—is that Yibo?”

Haikuan nodded and brought a finger to his lips. “He was bothered by the power outage so I invited him to sleep here.”

Zhuocheng’s lips formed an ‘O’ of understanding, but Haikuan let out a subtle sigh of disappointment. He’d finally gotten Zhuocheng to come to him, but the timing was less than ideal.

“I came to—” Zhuocheng broke off. If he was blushing in the dark, Haikuan couldn’t tell, but he had a feeling the other man was. “But what if I just…went over here.”

Before Haikuan could guess what he intended, Zhuocheng rounded the end of the bed and then climbed up onto the other side of Yibo.

“Hey, Yibo,” he said quietly as he carefully lay on his side, facing Yibo and Haikuan. Zhuocheng exchanged a questioning look with Haikuan when Yibo didn’t respond.

Haikuan didn’t know how to explain without words and without embarrassing Yibo, so he settled with forming his fingers into a claw and pawing the air while making a face, mimicking a monster attack. Zhuocheng’s eyes widened. His smile was wan and seemed regretful. Haikuan loved how empathetic he was. Zhuocheng immediately understood that he’d accidentally frightened Yibo with his arrival.

“Um, glad you were smart enough to come to Haikuan’s room,” Zhocheng told the back of Yibo’s head. “As you can see, you weren’t the only brilliant one with the idea.”

Haikuan smiled, accepting that this was how he and Zhuocheng should play this. If Zhuocheng had come tonight, well, that meant he’d come tomorrow night, too, and they could explore then what seemed to be blossoming between them. For now, their castmate was in need.

“At least we’ll keep warm,” Haikuan said.

“And snuggly,” Zhuocheng added. “Don’t forget that part.”

Their eyes met in the darkness. “Of course not,” Haikuan agreed softly. “That’s the best part.”

“You two are sickening.”

They both looked down at Yibo, who slowly rolled onto his back as Zhuocheng made way for him. Haikuan reached for his forehead and was unsurprised to find Yibo sheened in a light layer of sweat. Haikuan shifted closer to prevent him from catching a chill.

“We’re just two friends, talking,” Zhuocheng said, pretending to sound offended.

Yibo smirked. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure everyone will agree with that when I tell them about this tomorrow.”

“You’d better not,” Haikuan warned and poked him in the ribs.

Yibo giggled and twisted to try to get away. Zhuocheng met Haikuan’s eyes before he grinned. Yibo squealed as Zhucheng attacked him from the other side.

As far as methods of distraction, it worked perfectly. After several seconds of merciless tickling they succeeded in exhausting Yibo, who lay gasping and grinning between them, no hint of his earlier night terror to be found.

“You two are mean,” he panted breathlessly. “You’re perfect for each other.”

This time, Haikuan could feel he was the one blushing. “Yes, well…”

“You are,” Yibo insisted, and Haikuan couldn’t tell if he was merely oblivious or angling for something. With Yibo, there was no telling.

“Hey, Lan Xichen, he’s your brother,” Zhuocheng said, his voice tight despite his playful words. “He knows you best, right?”

Their gazes met and locked again. Haikuan’s heart stuttered. How could any man be as beautiful and sweet as Zhuocheng? He wished he possessed the courage to reach across and cup the younger man’s cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was too conscious of Yibo watching. _Or am I only using him as an excuse to cover my cowardice?_

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Yibo muttered, as though he were aware of his place in Haikuan’s thoughts.

A hand curled behind Haikuan’s neck, breaking his staring match with Zhuocheng. He couldn’t resist when he was pulled down and Yibo rose up to meet him. Yibo’s lips were incredibly soft. Haikuan had always wondered about that. They looked so plush and plump—and now he knew from firsthand experience that Xiao Zhan was a lucky man.

But Yibo was kissing _him_ and Haikuan couldn’t help a bleat of shock. Yibo smiled against his lips and kept up the gentle pressure until Haikuan relaxed.

Just as soon as he did, however, Yibo let him go. As Haikuan hovered, stunned and acutely aware of the tingle of his lips, he watched Yibo reach up and pull an equally flabbergasted Zhuocheng down to him. Haikuan gasped softly at the sight of his love interest and his ‘little brother’ kissing tenderly only a foot away from him. He couldn’t recall witnessing anything more beautiful. The tension and uncertainty he’d been harboring since Zhuocheng entered his bed melted away. Haikuan wanted him the way he’d never wanted anyone, and it was a wonderful feeling, like opening the door to a field full of wildflowers and butterflies.

He watched Yibo end the kiss and lay back. Zhuocheng stared down at him in awe.

“There,” Yibo said quietly. “You two have shared your first kiss. The difficult part is over. Now you can get on with it.”

“That’s—that’s not how it works,” Haikuan said, but the protest was half-hearted as he looked to Zhuocheng’s freshly kissed lips. He told himself he was a brave sect leader, and for as silly as the pep talk was it worked. He leaned forward and his heart soared when Zhuocheng did the same.

There was a big difference in kissing him rather than Yibo. Yibo, despite initiating the kiss with Haikuan, had been passive. Their kiss had been innocent, a mere pressing of lips. Once Haikuan felt Zhuocheng’s mouth, he couldn’t maintain the same restraint. He parted his lips immediately. Zhuocheng apparently had the same idea.

Their tongues met in a sensual glide. There was no awkward jabbing or overaggressive sucking. It was like their mutual attraction extended to the way they kissed. They were in sync immediately, flitting playfully back and forth, stroking and teasing, never going too far. Their restraint wasn’t due to lack of desire, however. Haikuan was sure that they were both still mindful of Yibo lying between them and watching. It added tension to the kiss, but Haikuan didn’t let it build. That would be for later, when he and Zhuocheng were alone in private.

Haikuan eased off. He kissed the corners of Zhuocheng’s mouth, making him smile and his cheeks pop. Haikuan kissed those, too. Then his chin, his closed eyelids, and the tip of his nose. He adored everything about Zhuocheng and was so happy to finally have the chance to express it to the other man.

“Beautiful.”

The whisper broke the spell. 

Yibo cringed when he realized what he’d done. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to distract you guys.”

“It’s okay, didi. We have you to thank anyway.” At Yibo’s pleased smile, Haikuan acted without thinking. He bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

“I guess we do have you to thank,” Zhuocheng admitted with a playful roll of the eyes. “ _Maybe_.”

Then he surprised Haikuan by bending down and pressing a kiss to Yibo’s left cheek. Yibo gaped up at them with a fish-like expression that Haikuan found just too adorable. Smiling, he touched his own kiss to Yibo’s right cheek.

“You both keep kissing the wrong person,” Yibo told them, but Haikuan saw his fingers twitch against the bedsheet, as though he yearned to reach out and touch. Maybe he was lonely now that Xiao Zhan had put them on break. Maybe he was envious, seeing Haikuan and Zhuocheng so happy together.

Haikuan didn’t think too deeply about it. He trusted that Zhuocheng would understand as he cupped Yibo by his sharp chin and kissed him on the lips again.

This time Yibo made a sound, a soft little moan, as though he were a pet that had been given attention. 

Laughing, Haikuan lifted up. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Yibo said. He tucked his chin down, shy. “You just—you kiss well, okay? Can I not appreciate that?”

“He does kiss well,” Zhuocheng said in a tone that made Haikuan shiver pleasantly. “But what about me, Yibo? Am I terrible, or something?”

“No, I never said—” Whatever Yibo had never said was forever lost as Zhuocheng covered his mouth with his. 

Haikuan allowed himself to feel the lust that warmed his body as he watched Zhuocheng do his best to impress their younger castmate. Two beautiful men together should only be appreciated, anyway, he reasoned. _Better yet, I should join them._

He wasn’t the type to do something that anyone on this planet would consider risqué. Haikuan could serve a look or two, but when it came down to acting on it, he knew he was a bit conservative. Well, he was going to break that trend. Sliding down so he was lying on his stomach, he battled his shyness and squeezed his face between Zhuocheng’s and Yibo’s. It was awkward and not nearly as sexy as he’d hoped, but his lips still managed to touch both men’s while they were kissing.

Zhuocheng broke away with a gasp. “Haikuan! You just initiated a three-way kiss!”

Haikuan searched his expression, afraid he’d scandalized him. But Zhuocheng hooked Haikuan by the back of the head to keep him close.

“Let’s do it again,” Zhuocheng urged.

This time it was Yibo who kissed the side of their lips. It was funny and messy. They backed up a little and tried to kiss each other equally, which was even wetter. Haikuan didn’t know who stuck their tongue out first, but all of sudden a kiss that had been humorous and joke-like became sensual and heated. Haikuan found his tongue sliding over tongues he couldn’t identify. Damp lips touched and slid, moist breaths coiled and rushed between them.

When Haikuan felt the first serious stirrings of an erection, he regretfully pulled back. Once he did, Zhuocheng and Yibo separated, too.

“Getting carried away,” Haikuan said with a little laugh of embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Yibo said. Haikuan realized that Yibo apologized far too often.

“Don’t be,” Haikuan assured him. “It was all in fun.”

Yibo looked up at him with round, worried eyes. “But Xiao Zhan…”

“It was his choice to put you on break. Even if this had been serious and not just playing around, you haven’t done anything wrong, Yibo.”

“What? You guys are on break?” Zhuocheng shook his head, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “That’s dumb. No offense, Yibo. If anyone should be together, it’s you and Xiao Zhan.”

“They’ll get back together again,” Haikuan said confidently. “There’s nothing I’m more sure of.”

“I’m pretty sure that if I weren’t here, there’d be a lot less conversation in this bed,” Yibo said with a faint smirk.

Haikuan grinned over at Zhuocheng. “One step at time, Yibo. We’ll see how our dates go.”

Yibo looked like a fish again. “You’re going to take Cheng-ge on dates? Real dates? Wow, I’m impressed Kuan-ge.”

“You saying that just tells me I need to have a talk with Xiao Zhan,” Haikuan said with a chuckle. He wasn’t embarrassed that he wanted to take Zhuocheng out, and from the looks of Zhuocheng, he didn’t mind at all, either.

Haikuan patted Yibo’s hip. “We should get some sleep. Your call is in a few hours, I think. You need to start getting more rest.”

“Thank you, Kuan-ge. You’re a good man. Good boyfriend material.”

Zhuocheng snorted at Yibo’s less than subtle comment. “Time for bed, boys.”

They settled down with Yibo in the middle. It was late and sleep came for them quickly.

“Thank you for being my friends,” Yibo whispered just as Haikuan was about to slip under.

Eyes closed, he reached over to pat Yibo on the chest. He encountered Zhuocheng’s hand there, already doing the same. With a smile, Haikuan laced their fingers together atop Yibo’s chest and kept it there as they all fell asleep.


	5. Hu Bing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day early in honor of the completion of filming of Legend of Fei. Yay! Apologies in advance to Hu Bing for this completely made-up characterization.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: pain play, size kink, size difference, explicit sexual content, Rated E

Hu Bing was a nice guy. He was also handsome, a little dorky, and as big as a tree. Yibo’s impression of him was of an oversized Great Dane puppy that meant well even as it clumsily knocked vases off the shelves with its tail. 

Unlike the first time Hu Bing joined DDU for a cloud segment, Yibo was scheduled to interact one on one with the older man. Yibo was fine with it, willing to go along with whatever Hu Bing wanted to do. It made things easier and it had always been second nature to him to concede to a senior’s wishes. Being easy-going did not prevent him from being surprised, though, by what Hu Bing suggested seemingly out of the blue: that they remove their nose hair with wax.

Yibo could tell by the smirks of the camera crew that they were aware that Hu Bing would spring this on him. They were a little bit _too_ happy to film Yibo’s reaction to the proposal. Once he realized this, he vowed to extract revenge later, but for the time being he tried to figure out why Hu Bing would do this.

Pulling nose hairs was anything but sexy. Yibo didn’t particularly care about his own image being affected unless this made him appear uncool. But for Hu Bing, who had been treated throughout his career as something of a heartthrob, this was a strange choice of activity to have broadcast into millions of homes. Yibo questioned whether the older man had been pressured into doing it by the producers.

Then he caught the gleam in Hu Bing’s eyes as he held out the sticks to him and Yibo changed his mind. Hu Bing wanted to do this. Yibo would bet money that it was his idea all along. The question was why?

There was an unexpected sense of challenge in the air as Hu Bing waited for Yibo to respond. The challenge wasn’t necessary. Yibo couldn’t say no with the cameras on him. He was DDU’s performing monkey. But for some reason Hu Bing had infused his suggestion with something more than was immediately apparent. The older man had some kind of agenda here. Yibo was as intrigued as he was apprehensive.

“Alright,” he said with a reluctance he tried his best to hide.

Hu Bing’s grin did nothing to allay Yibo’s wariness. “Let’s do it.”

They microwaved the wax in its little pot and carried it to Hu Bing’s vanity counter and his obscene collection of skin care products. Hu Bing loaded up a stick for Yibo and one for himself. Yibo felt silly, but he followed Hu Bing’s instructions and cautiously pushed the waxed stick up his nose. It was an alarming experience. It was hot. Melted wax hot. But Hu Bing repeatedly assured him it wasn’t so bad and once Yibo overcame his initial panic, he accepted that the skin of his nostrils wasn’t actually being seared like a piece of pork.

On the count of three, they pulled the sticks. Yibo’s eyes watered, but it wasn’t half as bad as he’d feared. After a second, he discovered he could breathe clearly. Removing his protective nose hairs didn’t seem like a safe long-term practice, but it was fun for now. Hu Bing seemed proud of him for saying as much. The older man also was clearly excited, as though Yibo had exceeded—or perhaps met?—his expectations.

The rest of the day’s filming wasn’t nearly as interesting, unfortunately. Yibo went through the motions, trying on Hu Bing’s clothes that didn’t fit him—although the way Hu Bing ran his big hands over Yibo’s shoulders was interesting—and cooking a meal that thankfully didn’t involve anything scary or the use of an induction cooker. By the time they were through, Yibo felt distracted, like nothing had managed to hold his interest.

But in truth, one thing had.

Once they were done, the crew for DDU left for their own rooms, leaving Yibo hanging out with Hu Bing. He was tempted to leave, too, since Hu Bing, for as nice as he was, wasn’t the kind of personality Yibo would normally spend a lot of time with. But his nose tingled and he couldn’t help recalling that initial sharp sting when he yanked the stick. It was a unique feeling and he sort of wanted to experience it again.

“Are you sure you don’t have any more of those wax sticks?” he asked, half-jokingly as he prepared to return to his own room.

Hu Bing, seated on the sofa with one long leg crossed over a knee, smiled a little, almost as if to himself. “Like I said, I’ll send you a full kit when I’m back in Beijing. But in the meantime—” he added when Yibo began moving toward the door, “—I have something else you may like even more.”

His grin was conspiratorial and a little mischievous. Yibo decided that Hu Bing was never the cool kid while growing up; he’d succeeded because he was so handsome. 

And big. When he rose to his feet, he once again towered over Yibo like a giant. Yibo had to look straight up when the older man passed by him to dig around in his toiletry bag. Hu Bing straightened up with a small package in one hand.

“I used to swim competitively,” he told Yibo as he took a seat on the end of his bed and began opening the package. “Nowadays I want to get into water skiing, which is why I’d like to learn how to skateboard. But when I swam races, the key was to reduce drag against the water. So we used to remove our body hair.”

Yibo could see where this was going. Despite himself, he edged a little closer to see what Hu Bing had.

“These are pre-waxed strips,” Hu Bing explained. He held up something white and rectangular, with a strip of pale green running down the center. “I don’t race anymore, but believe it or not I got used to having hairless legs. Sounds weird,” he said with a grin when Yibo laughed, “but it’s a nice feeling. And maybe for you, since you do so much modeling, this might come in handy.”

“Having legs like a girl?” Yibo asked, skeptical. But he moved closer, not away. He wanted to see what the strips were like.

“I’ve seen your photoshoots, Yibo. Having ‘legs like a girl’ as you put it, might not be the worst thing for you.”

Hu Bing’s smirk was difficult for Yibo to interpret. Was Hu Bing teasing him? Trying to let Yibo know that he found him attractive because he could look feminine in photoshoots?

“Anyway,” Hu Bing went on before he could decide, “if you liked the nose waxer, you’ll probably love these. It’s very satisfying.” He tugged one leg of his track pants up to reveal his leg. “See? Looks nice, right? It feels great.”

Encouraged by Hu Bing, Yibo reached out and ran two fingers up the older man’s shin. “So smooth,” he marveled.

Hu Bing nodded with excitement. “And when you slide your legs together it feels very luxurious. Long socks feel good with them, too. I’m telling you, Yibo, you’d like this. It stings a bit when you’re doing it, but you seemed okay handling the nose waxing.”

Yibo sensed that he was being challenged again by the older man, only this time there was no production crew around to force Yibo to go along. He wavered, afraid of showing interest in this.

“I like it, myself.” Hu Bing’s tone was lower, one brother to another. The smile he gave Yibo was a little bit sly. “The sting makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?”

The back of Yibo’s neck heated up. Hu Bing was aware of how affected he had been by the nose wax, and Yibo’s intuition told him the older man was pleased by that. What a weird interest for the two of them to share. What would it lead to? Because Yibo could tell, Hu Bing was leading him somewhere.

“Yeah, I liked it. I guess,” Yibo murmured cautiously.

Hu Bing’s huge hand curled around Yibo’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Come on. Give it a try. We’ll do one strip, see if you like it.”

“Won’t that look funny?”

Hu Bing was already reaching for Yibo’s nearest pant leg. “Let me look.” He pushed the denim up. “Whoa. You barely have any hair as it is.” He stroked Yibo’s calf with his huge hand.

Yibo blushed at the less than platonic thoughts that flew through his head, all related to how big Hu Bing’s hands would feel on other parts of his body.

“That’s good, though,” Hu Bing said, looking up and winking at him. “It won’t be noticeable if we do a strip.”

This seemed like a dumb idea, or at least really, really weird, but Yibo nonetheless said, “Alright.”

Hu Bing tugged his jeans down again. “But we need to do something about these. They’re too stiff and won’t push up far enough. They’ll get in the way.” He got up quickly and shoved the bed pillows into a pile against the headboard. “Lean back here.”

Bemused, Yibo went along just to see what he intended. Once his back was against the pillows and his legs stretched out in front of him, Hu Bing took hold of Yibo’s pant legs. “Undo your button.”

 _Is he really going to do what I think he is?_

Yibo opened his jeans hesitantly, beginning to wonder if this was a prank and the DDU crew would rush back into the room. But Hu Bing abruptly yanked on Yibo’s jeans, ripping them down his legs and causing him to slide partway down the mattress.

“Whoa!”

Shocked and a little turned on by the rough treatment, Yibo pushed himself back up the bed, which allowed Hu Bing to pull his jeans completely off him along with his shoes. Yibo was grateful to be wearing dark boxer briefs instead of a skimpier underwear, but still, he was in his underwear in front of a man he’d only recently become friends with. He covered his groin with his hands self-consciously.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Hu Bing said airily when he noticed. “We’re good friends now, right? Absolute trust,” he added with a meaningful look. “Nothing leaves this room, didi.”

“Okay,” Yibo said, but he didn’t move his hands.

Hu Bing kneeled beside the bed and held the waxing strip up for Yibo to see. “It’s pre-waxed, so I just need to warm it between my palms.” He placed the strip between his hands and vigorously rubbed his palms together. After a couple of seconds, he stopped and pulled the strip apart. It was actually two strips stuck together with green wax, which was now soft enough that it stretched like cheese as Hu Bing separated the strips.

He looked up at Yibo with a crooked grin. “Ready?”

Yibo nodded because it was too late to say no.

Still grinning, Hu Bing carefully set one strip aside and spread one of them, wax side down, over Yibo’s shin, low near his ankle bone. Once the strip was down, he rubbed the back of it with his fingers to obtain full adhesion. It didn’t feel hot. It didn’t feel like anything, but Yibo was already imagining what was to come and his groin was beginning to feel warm and heavy.

 _Uh oh_ , he thought as he recognized the signs of an impending erection.

“Here we go,” Hu Bing announced, as though he were a ringmaster. He pinched one end of the strip between two fingers. “One. Two. Three!”

Hu Bing ripped the strip off. Yibo gasped. It wasn’t like the nose wax. This was like mini fireworks erupting in his brain. It was painful, but not enough to make him recoil. It filled his head with light that zipped throughout his entire body until it settled, gently throbbing, in his groin. 

“More hair than you’d expect,” Hu Bing said triumphantly as he held up the used strip. He pointed at the swirls on the green wax. “It’s easier to see here than on your leg.” His dark eyes found Yibo’s. There was a stillness to him as he asked, “What do you think, Yibo? Did that hurt too much?”

The question was deeper than it seemed, and so was Hu Bing’s interest in him. The thick nectar of arousal began to circulate through Yibo’s body. His cock thickened with it, making it difficult to conceal beneath his hands.

Instead of answering, trying to buy himself time to calm down, he leaned forward to check out his leg. He could see the clean strip where the hair was removed. It looked…interesting. His skin resembled alabaster.

“I can’t leave my leg like that,” he said, avoiding Hu Bing’s eyes. “Do you have enough strips to do the whole thing?”

“I have enough to do both,” Hu Bing replied casually and reached for the package. “But I need to move. It’s uncomfortable for me to kneel for too long.”

Yibo was simultaneously surprised and not when Hu Bing came around the side of the bed and climbed onto it. There was a sense of inevitability as the bigger man lifted Yibo’s legs and laid them across his lap.

Though he hadn’t dated recently, Yibo wasn’t inexperienced. He recognized someone making a move on him when it happened; he simply hadn’t been in a position to respond to it up to now. But he and Hu Bing were alone. Hu Bing wasn’t a young kid. He was an established actor with a reputation. Those things made him relatively safe when it came to something like this, something Yibo shouldn’t be doing but was going to do anyway because he was horny and everything about Hu Bing’s size compared to him made him feel boyish and small.

Hu Bing acted as though it was no big deal to have a young man in his underwear draped across his lap. He brought over the other half of the first strip and smoothed it over Yibo’s leg next to the cleared patch of hair. He didn’t stop there. He pulled another white strip out of the package and warmed it up as before. When it was ready, he separated the two halves and smoothed them over Yibo’s other leg, so that when all three were pulled, his skin would match on both legs.

“This is going to hurt,” Hu Bing said, though his words sounded more like a promise than a warning. He patted Yibo’s thigh as if in consolation, but he left his hand there for a second longer than would be considered appropriate, fingertips just touching the edge of Yibo’s underwear.

At that point Yibo lost the fight with his cock. It was hard beneath his hands, pressing urgently against his palms. He wouldn’t have predicted this when he first met Hu Bing, but now that it was happening he was eager for it. He couldn’t get over the size of Hu Bing’s hand on his leg. Yibo bet the other man could encircle his entire thigh with both hands, and that was sexy as hell.

“I’m ready for it,” Yibo said, finally daring to meet and hold the other man’s eyes. “Don’t make it hurt too much, gege.”

“No more than you can take, Yibo-didi.” Hu Bing patted his leg again. This time there was no mistaking the caress he applied to the inside of Yibo’s thigh, a little flick, playful, except for how close it came to his groin. Yibo breathed hard through his nose, which was a little easier to do thanks to the earlier waxing.

“Okay,” Hu Bing said softly. “Let’s do this.”

He didn’t look away from Yibo’s face while he grabbed the first strip between his fingers. When he yanked it, Yibo’s lips parted in shock and Hu Bing’s eyes zeroed in on the O of them. Yibo was suddenly sweating, but Hu Bing didn’t give him time to ready himself for the next strip. He ripped it off slower this time, forcing Yibo to feel the sharp pinch of the individual hairs being pulled. It felt like fire racing up his leg straight to his cock. His gasp was loud and it was trailed by a whimper he absolutely did not intend to release. His cock filled his palm, making it nearly impossible to hide.

Hu Bing was cruel for the third strip. He pulled it off far slower than he needed to and the result was pure electric pain. Yibo hissed, nearly begged him to stop. Yet for as much as it hurt, it somehow turned his body weightless. He couldn’t help but grab his cock through his underwear while his lashes fluttered at the tangled up sensations in his brain that told him this pain was good…this pain was sexy.

“Yibo…”

Hu Bing’s erection jabbed, huge and hard, against the back of Yibo’s leg. 

“So big,” Yibo choked out in awe.

Hu Bing groaned and reached up to grab the waistband of Yibo’s underwear. At the last second he paused, waiting for their eyes to meet. There was no question of what Yibo needed. He nodded and lifted his hands out of the way. Hu Bing groaned again when he saw Yibo’s erection tenting the cotton.

“I thought so,” he said smugly. “Knew you were just like me, little didi.”

He tugged Yibo’s underwear down his hips to allow his cock to spring free, but he didn’t pull them all the way off for some reason. Yibo reached down to finish the job but a big hand manacled his wrist.

“No,” Hu Bing said, staring deeply into his eyes. “Leave them on.”

“Why?” Yibo asked.

“You’ll see.”

Hu Bing changed position suddenly, catching Yibo off-guard. He yelped when he was abruptly hefted into the air by the hips, his weight shifted onto his shoulders and the back of his head. Hu Bing had risen to kneel on the bed behind him and even kneeling, he was taller than Yibo. Now upside down, gravity pulled Yibo’s knees toward his face, leaving his ass pointing at the ceiling. He would have been embarrassed except Hu Bing was holding him up with long arms wrapped all the way around his waist and hips as though Yibo weighed nothing.

“Bing-ge!” Yibo cried out at the first curl of warm air between his cheeks. He cried out again when a wet tongue dragged up his perineum and licked his balls. He thrashed in mortification, his legs bound by his underwear, but then stopped fighting when that hot tongue returned to his rim and swiped it with a long, lewd lick.

“Oh. Oh, fuck…” Yibo moaned.

The strength left him and he dangled in Hu Bing’s grip like a doll. He’d never been manhandled by someone so big and so strong. He felt small and vulnerable and that pushed the buttons in his brain that got off on that.

He clutched the bed pillows, dragging one over to muffle his moaning that grew louder as Hu Bing licked into him. He felt wet and loose, like his body was giving way, eroded by that relentless tongue. Hu Bing was _working_ him, pushing the tip of his tongue past Yibo’s rim to fuck into him and then pulling back and sucking. Yibo’s legs kicked out helplessly as Hu Bing worked him into a fever of desperation.

“Bing-ge,” he gasped. “Please, Bing-ge.”

A hand that was big enough to span half his waist slid down his abdomen. Yibo strained, trying to twist his cock into Hu Bing’s hand, but Hu Bing was a tease. He palmed down the front of Yibo’s body until he reached his chest. When he located Yibo’s nipple he twisted it, hard. Yibo cried out and released the pillow to grab his cock instead.

He stroked himself furiously while Hu Bing continued to fuck him open with his tongue. Yibo was on the verge of begging the older man to just toss him down and fuck him. Hu Bing’s cock was big like the man. He’d split Yibo in two. 

But that was also a slightly scary prospect, and Yibo still retained a healthy sense of self preservation. Getting rimmed within an inch of his life was going to have to suffice, and it was no sacrifice. Each time Hu Bing stuffed his tongue into him, Yibo shuddered and his feet flexed. The intense pleasure was heightened by a dash of pain as Hu Bing kept twisting and pinching Yibo’s tiny nipples. 

When Hu Bing pointed his tongue and pushed it deeper into him and then he _growled_ , the vibration of it was just too much. Yibo kicked out helplessly as he began coming. He felt wetness splash the underside of his chin before it streaked his abdominal muscles, painting them with liquid heat.

Hu Bing groaned and smeared his hand through the mess, rubbing it into Yibo’s skin. Dizzy from being upside down for so long, Yibo could only hang there and gasp for breath. He felt Hu Bing rut against his back for a few seconds before the big man shuddered and stilled. 

Hu Bing carefully lowered Yibo’s body to the bed before collapsing beside him. The older man began laughing, as though he’d just had the time of his life. Yibo smiled, but weakly. He still found this all rather strange.

“I’ll send you a package of those, too,” Hu Bing promised Yibo with a friendly pat to his naked thigh.

“I’ll end up entirely hairless,” Yibo quipped dryly.

“In that case, I’ll send you other fun things to try.”

Hu Bing appeared thrilled by the prospect. Yibo wondered just what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into with this big, kinky gege.


	6. Huang Xiaoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The firefighting episode of DDU is great. It's basically an entire episode of everyone babying Wang Yibo. Then there's some firefighting stuff sprinkled throughout. Huang Xiaoming, whom I'd never heard of before (did you know he's married to Angelababy?), was unofficially awarded Top Yibo Babier, after the show.
> 
> Tags for this chapter - mentoring, Rated G

“Huang Laoshi,” Yibo says, sounding nervous, “I think something might be on fire.”

Huang Xiaoming continues stirring the flour for the scallion pancakes. Yibo is only warming up milk and butter. There’s no real concern that he has succeeding in setting anything on fire. 

“Hmm, Yibo?” he asks, a bit amused. “What’s that, you say?” Yibo is quite adorable in his cooking ignorance and Xiaoming enjoys steering him right.

Yibo bites his lip and points at the microwave. Through its window, Xiaoming can see something sparking inside. It looks like it’s full of fireworks.

“Fire!” Xiaoming gasps. He points urgently. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Simply opening the microwave’s door would stop it. But Yibo panics. He pulls the table that the microwave is sitting on away from the wall, presumably so he can yank the cord. In jerking out the table, however, he upends everything that’s sitting on it, including the bowl of shrimp that’s marinating in Xiaoming’s special sauce. Dark brown liquid and dead shrimp splash across the floor. 

Yibo yelps, “My shoes!” and jumps back. One of his flailing hands knocks the pan of eggs that he was supposed to have already placed on the stovetop. The pan flips and all five eggs splatter against the wall. 

Meanwhile, the inside of the microwave is now definitely on fire. Smoke is pouring from around the door. A second later, the fire alarm begins shrieking.

 _They did warn me,_ Xiaoming thinks, wide-eyed, as he takes in the catastrophe. But who would have taken that warning seriously? _We’re only cooking breakfast!_

~~~~~

Huang Xiaoming loves to perform. This includes acting as well as cooking for an audience. What many may not know about him is that he also loves to teach. He gets off on showing what he knows. 

Bloggers have occasionally spread rumors about him being arrogant. They’ve said he takes enjoyment from telling people what to do. Well, he _does_ like telling people what to do, but not because he looks down on anyone. He just likes the gratitude and wonder that people express to him after he’s taught them something new. It’s very satisfying. If he does something nice and is repaid for it, it’s really not that big of a deal, in his mind.

When Wang Han invites him to guest host on Day Day Up for a special fire safety episode, Xiaoming sees his chance to experience those feelings with the DDU brothers while promoting his firefighting movie and performing a civic duty. Xiaoming accepts with minimal expectations beyond that. Once he finishes filming the segment, however, he’s left yearning for more. Specifically, he’d like more time with Wang Yibo.

Xiaoming was not unaware of Yibo when he joined the show. There’s no way for anyone in the industry to be ignorant of the young idol’s recent meteoric rise to popularity. Though Yibo has been in the industry for years, Xiaoming has never worked in a circle that overlapped with Yibo’s, so he had no idea what to expect of him. He knew only that he should interact with him as much as possible to satisfy the viewing audience.

What he discovers in Yibo is the ideal student. Yibo’s interest in everything Xiaoming teaches the brothers about fire safety seems one hundred percent genuine. At first, Xiaoming is skeptical. In industry years, Yibo is no child. However, his responses and reactions are surprisingly earnest. He reacts like any normal twenty-two year-old would, not one who’s been interviewed hundreds of times and is hounded by tens of millions of fans. He’s merely a boy, a curious and empathetic one, who’s easily awed. Xiaoming very quickly falls in love with him.

It’s not a romantic love, of course. Xiaoming is a happily married man. What he feels for Yibo is the love for a pet project. Yibo is a young person whom Xiaoming has the opportunity to mold and groom as he pleases. Theirs could be the perfect mentor-student relationship that would reflect, incidentally, rather well on Xiaoming. So when his agent approaches him with a suggestion that he return to DDU to film a cooking lesson with Yibo, he accepts without asking for further details. The only thing that matters is that he’ll be teaching his new favorite (and extremely popular) student a subject he knows quite a bit about. He doesn’t even bother to review the cloud episode when Yibo cooked chicken with the remote help of a professional chef. All that matters is what Xiaoming will be teaching him. Xiaoming intends for it to be a thorough education.

They meet to film the segment at one of Qian Feng’s restaurants to give him a little promotion. Xiaoming doesn’t care where they cook. After two seasons of starring on _Chinese Restaurant_ , he’s confident he can produce good food anywhere. The layout of the kitchen is different, of course, and Xiaoming takes a cursory look to familiarize himself, but what he’s going to teach Yibo is primarily skill work anyway. And the menu Xiaoming has settled on is for breakfast, so they won’t be needing too much space or equipment.

As he waits with his assistants for Yibo to show up, Xiaoming drums his fingers on a steel countertop, unable to conceal his nervousness. He hasn’t seen or spoken to Wang Yibo since the firefighting episode, and though he’s re-watched it several times for the pleasure of it, a part of him worries that he’s remembered that day of shooting with rose-tinted glasses. Maybe Yibo _wasn’t_ that enthusiastic about the firefighting skills. Maybe he was only putting up with Xiaoming’s instructions during the dummy lift because the cameras were on him or the director told him to, not because he respected anything Xiaoming had to tell him.

By the time he hears the approach of the DDU crew, he’s worked himself up. He’s probably too aggressive with his greetings of the producers and film crew (some blogger is likely going to write an article about him being too greasy.) Once he glimpses Yibo, though, everything changes.

He’s as darling as Xiaoming remembered him. It’s no mean feat to stand out in the industry, especially for men. A new crop of idols appears every year, eager to take their shot at the top. But Yibo is an exception. His features are delicate yet sculptural. He can have a high drama face as easily as he can look like a fresh-faced teenager. If Xiaoming were an agent, he’d want a client like Wang Yibo for the sheer diversity of roles he could book for him.

Yibo has already gone through hair and makeup and he’s going to make the female viewers of the show very happy with his appearance today. He’s dressed in a white, short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. It’s a clean, youthful look that will pair well with the show’s subject matter. 

What Xiaoming likes most of all, is that despite the fact Yibo practically glows with attractiveness, he acts like a simple student. He hurries over to Xiaoming and bows deeply, his extended arm supported at the elbow by his opposite hand in the classic Korean-style greeting. Xiaoming is a fan of the respect shown by this sort of handshake and takes Yibo’s hand in both of his as they shake.

“Yibo, so good to see you again,” Xiaoming says with a wide smile.

“Huang Laoshi, I’m honored you agreed to teach me today. Thank you.”

Because of Yibo’s sincere tone, Xiaoming _does_ feel honored, like he’s doing Yibo a tremendous favor. He is, actually, because Xiaoming has a busy schedule and it’s not as though he’s making a fortune from this brief appearance. He’s here for Yibo, and, maybe, yes, for the satisfaction of his reactions. Xiaoming secretly prays they remain as effusive as this.

They chit chat for the camera before they discuss the day’s lesson.

“I found it difficult to prepare the chicken,” Yibo admits when they broach the subject of his first WeChat cooking lesson. “And I had problems with the pot. It was too small.”

Xiaoming waves all that off. “No whole chicken this time, Yibo. And I brought my own cookware, so everything will be top notch this time.” He claps a supportive hand on Yibo’s shoulder, a little alarmed by how thin he is. Xiaoming makes a mental note to send some food to him. “I’m taking care of you. Not to worry. You will be excellent today.”

Yibo is visibly relieved, but Xiaoming can still sense some tension in him, as though he’s afraid to believe things will be easy despite Xiaoming’s assurances. That won’t do. Xiaoming wants absolute trust from his young friend. It’s the only way to ensure that Yibo will do everything he tells him to.

Xiaoming has prepared special aprons—Yibo’s has a small motorcycle embroidered on it, which Yibo delights in—and once they’re dressed, Xiaoming breaks out a cutting board and his knife set as the cameras continue rolling.

“Most important skill of all,” Xiaoming announces, “is making sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Yibo nods soberly and flicks a fearful glance at the knives Xiamong has set out. Xiaoming’s heart begins to race with anticipation. Yibo knows _nothing_ , so everything Xiaoming teaches him will be new. What a gift this child is.

One by one, he explains the different knives and their purposes. Yibo hangs on every word, fascinated and clearly surprised. After Xiaoming finishes the explanation, he begins a basic knife work lesson.

Yibo’s grip on his chef’s knife is awkward, which Xiaoming probably shouldn’t take pleasure in but he does. It gives him the chance to correct Yibo’s positioning and demonstrate proper cutting technique.

“You’re so good,” Yibo murmurs in awe as Xiaoming mimes briskly chopping onions.

“It’s practice, Yibo. You can be just as good. Trust me.”

They start with vegetables. Xiaoming teaches Yibo how to hold whatever he’s cutting so he won’t accidentally cut himself, too. They move on to how to julienne and to create a dice. Yibo works slowly but precisely. It’s evident that he pays attention to everything Xiaoming says because in no time he is chopping carrots cleanly and uniformly.

“Excellent, Yibo!” Xiaoming doesn’t need to fake his enthusiasm for his young friend’s efforts. “You’ve mastered this already.”

The smile Yibo gives him and the camera is full of pride, and his cheeks—Xiaoming would pinch his fat cheeks if it wouldn’t be seen as overly familiar. He settles with patting Yibo on the back.

With knife safety successfully taught, Xiaoming brings out the ingredients for the breakfast they’ll be preparing.

“I’ve heard you like scallion pancakes,” Xiaoming tells him with a wink. “But you’ve been cooking the pre-made ones.”

Yibo smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know how to make them, Huang Laoshi.”

“I will teach you. I will teach you the _best_ recipe and you will never eat a pre-made pancake again.”

He directs Yibo to chop the scallions. Xiaoming loves the enthusiasm Yibo has for the task now that he knows what he’s doing. Xiaoming can’t help his own proud smile as he watches him carefully arrange the onions for cutting. Yibo’s precision is adorable, and when he pinches his lips in careful concentration, Xiaoming has to hide his smile so the cameras don’t catch it.

 _I wonder what else I could teach him,_ he thinks excitedly. _I have so much more experience than him. I’m sure there are plenty of things he could learn from me._

After Yibo slices the scallions, Xiaoming shows him the cleanest way to crack eggs. It’s a simple task that doesn’t really require a lesson, but Xiaoming now feels consumed with the need to instruct Yibo in everything, especially since Yibo acts as though everything is a revelation to him. Sure enough, Yibo is impressed and eager to take over from Xiaoming after the first two eggs are cracked.

“These will go in a pan in a thin layer,” Xiaoming tells him, “for cooking into an omelet. Then you’ll slice them like noodles.”

Yibo nods. “I can do that.”

Xiaoming beams. His student is confident!

Next, they move on to cleaning shrimp. Yibo becomes wary again with the introduction of a protein, and Xiaoming’s heart goes out to him. He’s beginning to feel rather like a mother to this young boy. He keeps his tone encouraging as he teaches him how to clean the alimentary canal and remove the heads. Once again, Yibo is the model student. His confidence quickly picks up and soon he is in charge of the rest of the shrimp while Xiaoming mixes up a marinade and explains to him and their audience what he’s putting into it.

The shrimp goes into the marinade and Xiaoming quickly prepares the ingredients for a dough for the pancakes. The prep work is nearly done. Xiaoming is quite happy that he’s not only taught Yibo essential knife skills and basic preparation for two types of protein, he’s bolstered Yibo’s confidence in his own cooking skills.

“This is all so much easier this time,” Yibo marvels while cutting butter to be warmed with milk in the microwave. “You’re an excellent teacher, Huang Laoishi. I feel like I could cook an entire meal by myself now!”

Xiaoming basks in the comment. This is what he’s been waiting for. This is the payoff, and it’s come in front of the cameras, so millions of viewers will hear it. He can imagine the Hot Search and Top Trending topic now: Wang Yibo-Huang Xiaoming Master Chef, or Huang Xiaoming Teaches Wang Yibo.

What if this success leads to a network wanting a dual lead show? Each week Xiaoming could introduce Yibo to a new concept or skill that Xiaoming possesses. Each week, he could educate Yibo in front of a huge audience. What a joy that would be! He’d soon be known as a venerated teacher.

It’s as he’s working the pancake dough that his dreams explode like fireworks in a microwave.

~~~~~

Someone from the crew shuts off the fire alarm. A different crew member opens the door of the microwave and begins waving the smoke out of the blackened interior. There’s a piece of something curled and burnt inside, like a piece of paper—maybe one with an aluminum backing. But it doesn’t matter at this point how Yibo managed to ruin everything. Xiaoming is so stunned, he honestly doesn’t know what to do.

But he realizes it’s something for the director of DDU to figure out because Xiaoming has a greater concern: Wang Yibo. The young man looks devastated as he stands aside to watch others clean up his mess. His isn’t the fleeting humiliation of ruining a dish. He looks as though he feels he’s let down every person associated with the show. Xiaoming is afraid the boy is going to cry. 

The strong reaction shocks him and makes him reconsider what they are doing here. He strides over to Yibo and wraps an arm around his thin shoulders. He steers him out of the kitchens, unwilling to allow the crew to witness his distress.

“Come, come,” he says as he leads Yibo out of the restaurant and into the inner courtyard. The tables are empty since the restaurant is closed for filming. They are alone as he guides Yibo to sit in a metal chair while Xiaoming pulls one up beside him. “It’s not the end of the world, Yibo. It’s only food.”

“I don’t understand why I continue to fail at this,” Yibo says mournfully as he stares down at his lap where his fingers are locked together. “I’m deeply sorry, Huang Laoshi. I didn’t mean to dishonor your efforts.”

“Nonsense.” Xiaoming reaches over and covers Yibo’s hands with his own. They are as cold as ice. “You didn’t dishonor anyone. Do you know how much joy I took in teaching you today?”

Yibo has large eyes. They’ve never looked larger as he tilts them up to regard Xiaoming dubiously. 

“Teaching is a pleasure,” Xiaoming insists. “It fulfills me greatly to help a person expand their education. And you, Wang Yibo—you take your education so seriously that I can’t help but admire you and wish to help you learn as much as possible.”

“But I burned everything.”

“Yibo—didi—each of us has burned everything at some point. The key is to not burn it the next time, and I don’t believe you will.” Xiaoming taps his temple with the forefinger of his free hand. “You’re quick and you’re smart. You pick up everything so well. I wish I was given the opportunity to teach you more. Everything I know, as a matter of fact. I want you to know all of it.”

The bold words clearly surprise Yibo, but Xiaoming doesn’t regret them. His own child is still small. Yibo, however, is at a prime age for mastering many subjects. What good is experience if it isn’t passed on to the next generation? Xiaoming believes that what he passes on to this young idol will be used well.

“We’ll go back,” he says with a cheering smile, “and cook up something else.”

Yibo flinches. “Something easier—”

“Something even more difficult.” Xiaoming shakes his head at Yibo’s expression. “You’re too smart for me to bore you with something simple. You need challenge, Yibo. That’s why you’re always getting better.”

Yibo ducks his head. “Huang Laoshi is too kind to me.” He looks up beneath his lashes at Xiaoming. “If you believe that I won’t fail again—”

“You won’t,” Xiaoming says firmly.

“—then I’ll try again. Thank you for your belief in me. I will do my best.”

His eyes hold fear, but his expression is brave. Xiaoming flashes back to their ride in the firetruck, when Yibo was willing to rush into danger to help others even though he was scared.

“I know you’ll do your best,” he tells Yibo. “That’s why you are who you are.”

Xiaoming tosses away his previous fantasies. He no longer wants to teach Yibo while the world watches and judges them. He wants their little lessons to be private, to be theirs. Because it would mean a great deal to him to help this courageous young boy to become a truly great man. He wouldn’t even need Yibo’s gratitude.

As he leads Yibo back to the kitchen, he acknowledges only one regret. He wants to take this precious boy home and call him son. He suspects, to his disappointment, that Wang Han has beaten him to it.


	7. Maximus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yibo and the DDU brothers visited Rome for an episode, where they went through a mini gladiator training session. The highlight was the gladiator dude pulling this super homoerotic chin lift move with Yibo. I don't know why it happened, but I'm grateful it did. I've improved upon it here ;) Sorry I don't have a better screencap of the guy.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: slight roleplay, references to pre-XZ/WYB, bad Italian, dom/sub undertones, rated E

He learned afterward that the big, beefy one was called Maximus. Yibo didn’t know anything about Italian names so he couldn’t say for certain that the name wasn’t just a stage name used for the gladiator performances. What he could say was that the name fit the huge, mountain of a man and that it worked rather well for Yibo’s fantasy.

They were wrapping up the segment in which he and the DDU brothers went through a mini training course for would-be gladiators. It had been a little silly, a little challenging, and a whole lot interesting and unexpected.

For one thing, Yibo had been the first one eliminated, which rarely (had it ever?) happened when he competed against his brothers. For another, he’d struggled with the Italian language, though he was okay with that. He’d begun learning a few phrases here and there in anticipation of meeting his idol Rossi, so he wasn’t totally surprised that he had trouble enunciating some of the fighting commands. Italian was a tricky language. But the biggest shock of all had come at the hands—or make that leather whip—of Maximus, who’d managed to introduce Yibo to a new sexual interest: big, hairy men who weren’t shy about admitting that they found him attractive.

Yibo had been stunned and unsure how to react when the man had used the whip on him, so he’d fallen on instinct and allowed the big gladiator trainer to force his chin up and hold it there while the whip rested against the side of his throat. Within a few seconds of this, Yibo had recognized how it looked to the dozens of cameramen and production crew watching from a few yards away. Not to mention Qian Feng and Da Zhangwei, who were standing on either side of him. Da Zhangwei even mentioned something about Maximus checking for beauty or something—the blood had been roaring too loudly in Yibo’s ears to hear him properly. The blood had also rushed into his cheeks and he’d broken into the tight-lipped smile he always made when he was embarrassed.

Everyone had seen that. Everyone had seen that he hadn’t tried to lean away, that he hadn’t attempted to avoid the whip. No, he’d just stood there and taken what Maximus had given him. And why had Maximus given it to him?

He thanked the Roman pantheon of gods that the gladiator outfit he wore came with a heavy leather panel hanging in front of his groin. It had concealed the raging hard-on he’d gotten that refused to go away as they began the training.

Being turned-on and confused contributed to Yibo’s difficulty in concentrating, though using that as the excuse for why he’d been eliminated would have been worse than simply being awful at following directions. So he’d kept silent and sat off to the side, praying away the erection that tried and failed to lift his heavy skirt.

After the training, Yibo was pulled aside for a Q&A with the DDU crew. It was him, a couple of producers, a cameraman, and a couple of assistants. And Maximus, who’d stood behind the group but directly in Yibo’s line of sight. As though on purpose. As though he’d known Yibo would be unable to keep throwing glances at him.

Yibo had hurried through the interview, giving the shortest answers possible—though he hadn’t been able to resist mentioning Rossi a couple of times, partly in hopes that Maximus would hear and know Yibo had an affinity for Italian men, in a way.

And then they were done, and Yibo’s assistant informed him he had an hour free time before they were due to leave for the Rome airport. Did Yibo want to do some sightseeing?

“Ah, yes,” Yibo said, still flicking looks toward Maximus, who stood there with his meaty arms crossed and an imperious expression on his face. The giveaway, though, was that he hadn’t yet looked away from Yibo. “But I wanted to learn a little more about the gladiators and the Coliseum, so maybe I could hang around here some more?”

His assistant looked dubiously to Maximus. “The translator already left, though.”

“We can use hand signals,” Yibo said without concern. “Fighting is fighting, right? I’ll understand.”

With a shrug, his assistant agreed to meet him in forty-five minutes. Yibo could tell the woman was eager to go off on her own, maybe to shop for the leather bags so famous here and in Florence. Yibo would have given her his own money to make her go away, but it wasn’t necessary. With a wave, she headed out onto the streets, leaving him in the training yard with Maximus and a few of the re-enactment actors who were chatting with each other at the end of the arena.

_Now how do I do this, and what if I’m wrong? Will he decapitate me? Or simply crush my bones?_

Nervous and questioning the wisdom of what he was doing, Yibo smiled and hesitantly approached the gladiator trainer. Maximus lowered his arms, which seemed to be a good sign. Then he smiled, producing dimples in his cheeks, and ran his eyes down Yibo’s body without bothering to conceal what he was doing. 

_That answers that._

“Good fighting,” Yibo said in Chinese, mimicking slashing a sword. 

“You want to learn more?” Maximus asked in halting English.

_Thank god, maybe we’ll be able to communicate now._ Yibo nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, want to learn,” he replied in English.

Maximus glanced at the re-enactment actors before grabbing Yibo by the bicep and dragging him across the dirt. “We go. I teach you about gladiator.”

Yibo stumbled before quickly catching up. No stranger had ever just seized him and hauled him away like this, but he couldn’t say he hated it. As Maximus had proved during their handshake greetings, he had a grip to crush iron. Right now, it was an iron manacle around Yibo’s arm that he had no chance of breaking. 

He allowed Maximus to manhandle him to the far end of the arena and behind a wooden wall. There was a stairwell leading down. Yibo felt a tendril of misgiving as Maximus pulled him down the stone steps and into an underground warren. A hallway was bracketed on either side by several doorless rooms with iron barred ceilings that let in plenty of light. The rooms made Yibo think of cells. Each was small, with dirt floors and stone walls and ceilings that created a few strips of shade but would provide no protection during times of rain or snow.

“Gladiators lived here,” Maximus told him as he continued dragging Yibo down the hall. “Barracks.”

“Wow,” Yibo said, genuinely amazed.

Maximus tossed him a smirk over one meaty shoulder. “Wow, si.”

He entered one of the gladiator cells, pulling Yibo in with him. The cell no longer possessed a door, but it was located at least a dozen cells away from the stairwell they’d descended to get to this level. Yibo felt very far away from the re-enactment actors they’d left behind. He could no longer hear them talking, which meant none of them would hear him…

“Gladiators,” Maximus went on as he used his grip on Yibo’s arm to steer him against a cool stone wall, “live and die here. Difficult life.”

Yibo nodded as though he could empathize. But it was difficult to focus on Maximus’s words with the big man crowding him against the wall. Yibo wouldn’t be able to push past him even with a bulldozer.

The man smelled of sweat and leather and metal, as well as a musk that was solely his. The tattoos on his bulging biceps and forearms were faded to dark stains on his skin, but Yibo thought they might be crests of some sort. Maybe of the man’s family, or connected to the gladiators in some way. His simple red tunic was frayed along all the hems as though it were a garment he wore frequently, like something he lived in. As though he were a real gladiator.

With most of his daily interactions occurring within China, Yibo didn’t have much experience with Westerners. He especially had little experience with such an intensely masculine man. Yibo felt like a boy compared to him. A very pretty, pretty boy with the way Maximus kept looking him over. It didn’t matter that Yibo was taller than him. Maximus threw a bigger shadow.

“You like the gladiators?” the older man asked, his voice low and deep.

That voice…it rumbled like an earthquake, tickling Yibo’s nerve endings. How could someone be so manly? Yibo pressed his hands to the wall behind him. His erection had returned with a fury and jammed against the heavy leather panel on his skirt.

“I-I like the culture,” he said, hoping he was choosing the correct English words. “Strong and…and handsome. Very brave. Powerful,” he added, just because the other man was staring so intently at his mouth.

“Gladiators fight to the death. But there is sometimes reward.” Maximus’s eyes were a steel gray. They pierced Yibo like a blade. “Do you know what that reward is?”

Maximus’s scent filled Yibo’s head as he shook it.

“Pleasure time with boy like you,” Maximus murmured.

“Uh—wow,” Yibo repeated inanely. He felt like a fool, but Maximus didn’t seem to mind his response.

“What you think about that?” he asked.

The heat from Yibo’s blush threatened to cook his eyeballs in their sockets. “I think—um, good reward?”

He inwardly cringed, but Maximus nodded. “I think so, too.”

Maximus didn’t have his whip with him, but it turned out he didn’t need it. His thick, rough hand served just as well to tilt Yibo’s chin up. Yibo whimpered as Maximus used his grip on his jaw to turn his face to the side. Why did this simple move affect him so much? Maximus’s gaze burned over the side of his face and throat. He felt naked.

“Not seen Chinese boy look like you.” Blunt, calloused fingertips ran slowly down the side of his throat. “Skin like milk.”

Yibo blushed and trembled. This was intense. Maximus wasn’t giving him an inch of breathing room and the man’s overwhelming masculinity—it left Yibo’s knees weak.

“You have man in China?” Maximus whispered to him, though even his whisper was rough around the edges, as though the man were incapable of pure softness. “Pretty boy like you?”

Yibo ached to palm himself. His balls felt swollen to the size of dragon fruit. “No,” he said shakily.

“Good. I don’t feel guilty then.”

The man’s broad thumb stroked across Yibo’s lips. It was their first truly intimate contact and Yibo became dizzy from it. His breath rushed from him, loud and betraying. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maximus smirk at his reaction. 

“Lips like woman’s nether lips.”

It took Yibo a second, and once he understood, he wished he hadn’t. Maximus’s thumb pressed against his bottom lip before flicking his top lip.

“No pearl, though,” Maximus said with a soft chuckle. “Is okay. Don’t want woman anyway.”

The older man kept Yibo’s face held to the side as he leaned closer to smell the skin of his throat.

Goosebumps exploded all over his body as Maximus breathed deep. Yibo felt himself trembling harder but couldn’t stop it or hide it. The metal scales on his armor shivered a faint tune.

“Shh,” Maximus soothed, his thin lips grazing the pulse at the base of Yibo’s throat. “Don’t be afraid. We are friends here.”

“Friends,” Yibo agreed, a part of him wanting to laugh at the absurd statement. He couldn’t laugh. Not with this bear of a man holding his face and sniffing at his neck.

“What should I do with you?”

Maximus’s question didn’t seem to require an answer. The man appeared to have an idea already of what he wanted to do with Yibo as he leaned forward to rest his broad, bulky chest against Yibo’s armored breast plate. Yibo felt a kick to one ankle and automatically spread his feet in the dirt.

“Good,” Maximus breathed against his throat. “Maybe you follow direction better here with me, hmm?”

Yibo shut his eyes as though it would offer a reprieve from the lust bombarding him. But plunging himself into self-imposed darkness only heightened the smell and feel of Maximus as he ran a wide palm down the side of Yibo’s body. He paused to squeeze here and there, as though testing Yibo’s musculature, but was more likely confirming how slender he was. Beneath the gladiator skirt, Yibo wore his billowy street pants. They were no barrier to Maximus’s hand, which swept up the inside of Yibo’s thigh to cup him between the legs.

He jolted and a moan ripped from him, to which Maximus chuckled.

“Not so small,” the gladiator trainer said as he fondled Yibo through the soft, skirt-like pants. “Face like girl, but cock like man, hmm?”

Yibo gasped and locked his knees. He used his legs to brace himself against the wall, afraid he’d slide down it as Maximus massaged him. The man used not only his hand but his whole arm, working Yibo roughly and thoroughly, until he had Yibo rocking back and forth in growing desperation. Soft, little moans dribbled from his lips.

“Si, si,” Maximus goaded him in a thickened voice. “Good. Very good.”

He figured out the fastening for Yibo’s pants and tugged them open. His hand was hot like sun-warmed leather as it pulled Yibo free of his underwear. The callouses on Maximus’s palms scraped Yibo as he stroked him. That touch of pain felt right, felt appropriate for an encounter with a gladiator. Yibo let it leap into his blood, let it rush throughout his body. Maximus’ fat thumb pushed at his lips again and this time Yibo willingly opened for the thick slide of it, tasting dirt and salt and ancient stone. He let himself fall back in time, into the fantasy…

Maximus, breathing heavy like a bull, tugged Yibo’s cock a few more times before dipping low to play with his balls. Yibo twitched violently with it. Maximus’s response was to press his thumb down on his tongue and hold it there until Yibo sucked it. 

He felt like a toy for this big man. Actually, he felt like the pleasure boy Maximus had described: a reward for a gladiator fresh off the bloodied arena grounds. Yibo realized the old host who had given him his initial tour was right: he wasn’t meant for fighting. Maybe the man knew he was meant for this.

He sucked hard on Maximus’s thumb, trying to prove his skill. He rolled his hips to push himself into the bigger man’s hand. But Maximus pulled his hand out from between Yibo’s legs and allowed the leather panel to slap against his cock, making him hiss. Maximus chuckled and nuzzled beneath Yibo’s uplifted jaw as he fumbled with his own tunic. 

“My turn.”

When Maximus grabbed Yibo by the right wrist, his fingers completely encircled the bones. He used the grip to pull Yibo’s hand forward to take hold of Maximus’s cock, which was formed much like the man—girthy rather than long. Yibo imagined it pounding into him and realized it wouldn’t stuff him deep—it would spread him wide, rubbing mercilessly against all the nerve endings in his rim. If Maximus shoved it into his mouth, it would stretch his lips to their limit.

“Together,” Maximus ordered as he thrust into Yibo’s hand.

Yibo lifted the leather panel out of the way and guided his own cock alongside Maximus’s. He was thankful for his big hands which allowed him to stroke both their cocks together, even with Maximus’s thicker size. He wished he could look down and watch himself jerking both shafts. The differences in their shapes felt amazing and probably looked even hotter.

But he couldn’t look down because Maximus kept the grip on his chin and his chunky thumb lodged on Yibo’s tongue. Maximus was fascinated with the length of his neck. He forced Yibo to keep it extended while the man nuzzled all over it with his rough cheeks and rougher stubble. _My skin is going to be red,_ Yibo thought without any great concern. _And I’m going to have his fingermarks on my jaw._

That afternoon he was flying out of Italy to meet with Xiao Zhan and record the songs from The Untamed OST. Yibo didn’t have any clothes that would conceal his neck and anyway, it wouldn’t be possible to hide marks on his jaw unless he wore full foundation, which he disliked doing outside of work. Xiao Zhan, in other words, was going to see the evidence of Maximus’s manhandling. Would it make him jealous? Disgusted?

_Jealous_ , Yibo decided, moaning now around Maximus’s thumb. _Xiao Zhan wants me. He’s just afraid to make a move. But now he’ll see that all you have to do is grab me and I’ll do anything you want…_

Teeth scraped across the thick muscle in his neck, hot breath like a lion’s searing his skin. In another second, Maximus was going to _bite_ him. He was going to tear Yibo’s armor off and throw him face down in the dirt. He was going to smack Yibo across the ass and spit on his hole and then ram that thick, fat cock up Yibo’s—

Yibo let out a cry and began coming _hard_ , his hands faltering around his and Maximus’s cocks as he lost control. The heat and wetness of his release did the work of his hands in pushing Maximus over the edge, too. More hot air abruptly gushed across Yibo’s throat as Maximus groaned like a volcano erupting. A second later, Yibo was convinced molten lava was pouring over his dick and hands. He moaned as it pulsed over his throbbing cock and joined the splatter already dripping to the dirt between their feet.

“Si, si, bello,” Maximus groaned along Yibo’s jaw. He pulled his thumb out of Yibo’s mouth and painted Yibo’s lips with his own saliva before collapsing against him, crushing him to the wall. “Stupendo,” he panted.

Yibo rolled his head forward, wincing at soreness in his neck from having it twisted to the side for so long. Pain aside, he regretted nothing. He smelled like Maximus and he was sticky with the bigger man’s spunk. Yibo might not be qualified for gladiator training, but he was well equipped to be a gladiator’s pleasure boy.

He smiled to himself, sheepish, then gave a grunt as Maximus used a hand on Yibo’s breast plate to push himself upright. The stocky man was grinning, his dimples in sharp relief. He reached up and cupped Yibo’s cheek in one hand.

“Good for you?”

Yibo grinned back. “Good for me. Grazie mille.”

Maximus laughed at his terrible Italian. “Grazie mille,” he said more melodically. He patted Yibo’s cheek affectionately. “Best Chinese boy.”

Yibo laughed and nodded. He couldn’t wait to tell Xiao Zhan this story. It was going to lead to good things.

As Maximus led him out of the cell and back to the stairwell, Yibo couldn’t help asking, “Do you know Valentino Rossi?”

The big man sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, no. All I hear is Rossi, Rossi.”

“Then you know him?”

“No!”


	8. Zhang Yixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a tie-in to [Get a Grip](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314481). So if you haven't read that, you might want to do so first, just so you understand some references. 
> 
> I really like Yixing with Yibo. There's a mentor/brother connection here that feels good to me. Yixing seems like he really likes Yibo. Obviously, that means I need to make them do nasty things to each other 😁 I'm holding off on writing the Yixing/Yibo/Jackson threesome until Street Dance of China airs or shows us some bts. It's gonna be awesome!
> 
> Tags for this chapter: phone sex, dirty talk, references to past Xz/WYB, references to future ZY/WYB/JW, rated E, mostly for language.

“Come onnnn, Yibo didi.”

Yibo smiled as he rolled onto his back on the bed. “You only call me that when you want something from me.”

On the other end of the line, Yixing chuckled. “How can you know me so well? Only certain people are allowed to know me that well.”

“I guess I’m one of them, then.” Yibo checked the time—two a.m.—before bringing the phone back to his ear. “I told you why I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“You gave me a bunch of excuses. Those don’t count. I need you, Yibo.”

The plaintive tone of his friend’s voice amused Yibo. Yixing could be wheedling, but not often, and especially not with Yibo. Yibo typically was happy and eager to do anything the older man wanted of him. But this was different.

“Lay, my schedule is impossible,” Yibo told him again. “The quarantine pushed back everything and complicated it all. iQiyi wants me to do the surf show as part of the deal for the fall drama. And Being a Hero begins table reads at the same time. How am I going to fit in Street Dance?”

“Am I talking to the same Yibo who sleeps two hours a night? The one who used to practice so long that he scared his hyungs? The one who lives to dance?”

“It’s not only up to me,” Yibo tried, though he could tell which way the wind was blowing. This wasn’t going to be a fight he would win. And his friend was right, Street Dance of China was his dream job. He’d been hoping to do it up until the filming stoppages threw a wrench into his plans.

“Everyone works around your schedule and you know it,” Yixing countered. “You’re the star, Yibo. You just have to ask for what you want. So will you ask for it? For me? Don’t tell me no, Yibo.”

“When have I ever?” Yibo said plainly, but he wasn’t upset. To be begged by Yixing was an honor that wasn’t diminished by their good friendship. Yibo respected the older man tremendously, especially when it came to dancing. He should be flattered that someone of Yixing’s skill level wanted him so badly, and he was.

“You’re essential to this show, Yibo. The two Wangs and me? The dance world will fall to its knees, weeping in gratitude.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing, “but okay. I’ll bring it up to my team and see if they can fit it in.”

“Yay! Good boy. I can always count on you.”

Yibo smiled at the praise.

“You won’t regret it, Yibo. I promise they’re going all out with this season. It will be the biggest dancing show this year.”

“It’s been a long time since I danced hard,” Yibo admitted. “I miss it.”

“I figured. That’s why I told Jackson you were in.”

Yibo laughed. “Before you even talked to me?”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no to me.”

The tone of Yixing’s voice had changed and Yibo picked up on it. His cheeks grew warm.

“Where are you, Yibo?”

He knew better than to answer with the truth, but he’d never lie to his friend. “In a hotel.”

Yixing didn’t bother asking if he was alone. As well as Yibo knew Yixing, Yixing knew him. “Switch to video call, Yibo.”

He groaned and rubbed the soles of his feet on the bed. “I was planning on going to sleep after I hang up.”

“You can still do that. But later.”

“Lay…”

“Video.”

Accepting defeat—though it was a misnomer of gargantuan proportions—Yibo ended the call and waited for Yixing’s video call, which came within seconds.

“Hey.” Yixing grinned widely into the screen. His hair was spiked at the ends as though he’d recently come out of the shower. The strands hung in his eyes before he slicked his hair back with one hand. He was shirtless and sitting in a generic chair which meant he was probably in a hotel somewhere, too. Yibo licked his lips as he stared at Yixing's prominent abs.

“You should be asleep,” Yibo told him, but he’d already untied the string knot on his sweat pants and begun shifting them down his hips. “Aren’t you shooting thirty shows simultaneously?”

“Mama raised a hard-working boy. And not all of us are drama stars, mighty king.”

“Oh, whatever,” Yibo muttered.

Yixing winked at him. “What’re you wearing, Yibo didi?”

“You can see for yourself.” Yibo tried to play it cool, but doing it around Yixing was a challenge. He had admired Yixing ever since they met.

“Pan your camera down.”

Yixing’s dimples were still poking into his cheeks, but his eyes held more than mischief. It was those eyes that coaxed Yibo to turn the camera on himself, revealing his nudity. It was slightly embarrassing to show himself this way, though, and he was already moving to cover his groin with his hand before he’d raised the camera to his face again.

Yixing laughed. “Still shy after as many times as I’ve seen you?”

“I don’t do this. Not normally. Not for anyone else.”

His friend’s expression softened. “I know. I’m a lucky guy.” He winked again. “So are you. Jackson’s looking forward to hanging out. With both of us.”

Eyes wide, Yibo shook his head. “No, he’s not. You’re lying.”

“He and I are good friends. Him joining us is a natural progression of our friendship. He’s wanted to for a while, anyway. But schedules never lined up.”

“So you and he have already—?”

“Yep. Want me to give you a tease of what you’re in for, or do you want it to be a surprise?”

Yibo couldn’t believe they were talking about a threesome with Jackson Wang as though it were a done deal. While Yibo was interested in the other Wang, he’d never expected anything to come of it. They just didn’t cross paths often enough for them to reach that level of comfort. But with Yixing as the bridge, apparently Yibo was going to get what he wanted.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, feeling embarrassed again with Yixing watching him so closely. “If it happens, it happens, but I’m not expecting anything.”

“Low expectations. Smart. But a waste of time. You know what he said when I told him you were joining the show?”

Yibo shook his head, wary.

“He said, ‘Good. Now I get to experience for myself what happened in that bathroom.’”

Yibo gasped. “Oh, my god. He remembers that?”

“Yibo!” Yixing broke into laughter. “Are you serious? We were there for hours. All four of us. Why wouldn’t Jackson remember it?”

“I was hoping he was too drunk.” Yibo palmed his face. “This is too awful. I don’t even know what I sounded like, but it must have been…” He couldn’t even say it.

“It was pretty incriminating,” Yixing said cheerfully. “But Xiao Zhan’s loss is our gain.”

Yibo winced, however the sting of hearing his ex’s name had faded over the months. It helped that Yibo had been the one to walk away, unable to put up with the Xiao Zhan’s inability to commit. Yibo suspected that they’d run into each other one of these days and all the old feelings would come rushing back, leading to them getting together for good. But until—and if—that day came, Yibo was free to sleep with whomever he wanted. Sleeping with Jackson Wang and Zhang Yixing, though—it was a lot.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with it,” he confessed as he lowered his hand from his face. “I know you. I feel comfortable with you. I don’t know him.”

“You know what you need to know?”

Yibo waited, curious.

“You need to know that he’s been dying to have you since that night.”

“God,” he groaned. “Because I sounded like a slut!”

“That,” Yixing acknowledged with an unrepentant grin, “but he also respects you as a performer. He doesn’t fool around with just anyone. That’s why you never hear about him. If you were a terrible dancer or singer, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, trust me.”

“I guess.” But Yibo was reassured by what Yixing had said. Sex was just sex, but he never wanted to be taken for granted or used.

“He’s an animal in bed, Yibo.”

He shut his eyes. “Lay, no.”

“I may have to protect you from him.” Lay paused. “Or probably I’ll hold you down for him.”

Heat rushed through Yibo. “Don’t,” he pleaded.

“He’s wild,” Yixing continued in a lower voice. “Really forceful. A little bit rough when he gets too into it.”

Yibo felt sweat beading on his forehead. “Just stop. Please.”

“Why should I? I know what you like. Can’t hide anything from me, Yibo.”

He disliked the truth of Yixing’s words even as it excited him to be understood and desired for his preferences.

“Get your lube.”

He groaned. “I don’t have any. I’m in a hotel, Lay.”

“Too bad for you. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Muttering beneath his breath, Yibo took hold of his erection. Just that simple touch had him hissing.

“Already close,” Yixing observed, smirking, though his tone had roughened. He was in no better condition than Yibo. Yibo watched the muscles in Yixing’s shoulders flex as he began stroking himself. “Jackson thinks you’re very handsome,” Yixing murmured.

There was no fighting this, so Yibo gave in and allowed himself to enjoy Yixing’s seduction.

“He’s handsome, too,” Yibo said quietly. “I like the power in his stage.”

“You’ll like the power in his body, too. He’s like a bull.”

Yibo tipped his head back on the pillow. He heard Yixing take a sharp breath.

“You like that description, Yibo?”

“I—yeah.”

“You know what else you’ll like? He’ll pin you down. Just to show you that he’s in charge.”

Yibo groaned beneath his breath. “He’s in charge.”

“And me,” Yixing reminded him in a firmer tone. “I’m in charge, too.”

Yibo bit his bottom lip before rolling onto his side so he could better support his phone. “Yes, gege. You, too.” Yibo held his friend’s gaze. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yes, the last time…” Yixing shut his eyes briefly. It was his turn to let his head fall back. Yibo admired the strong muscles in this throat. “I nearly got you to cry.”

Yibo made a face, though he began stroking himself faster as the memories took on color. “No, you didn’t.”

Yixing raised his head. He locked gazes with Yibo as he palmed his muscular chest with his free hand.

“Didn’t I?” he challenged. “I had you seated backwards on my cock, Yibo. All the way down to the balls. You remember feeling my balls against you, don’t you? You remember how full you felt?”

Yibo felt his nipples tighten. “Yes.”

“And my hand was around that sexy throat of yours—like this.” Yixing wrapped his hand around the front of his own neck. “Remember when I squeezed and you tightened up around me?”

Yibo pushed his face into the pillow. “I remember.”

“Lift up. Don’t hide.” After Yibo turned his face to the side, Yixing went on quietly, “I bet Jackson would love to hold you by the throat, too.”

Yibo’s breath rushed out of him. He thumbed the slit of his cock, teasing himself. His hips began to move against the mattress. “Will you—”

“Will I what?” Yixing prompted, his arm moving much faster now. His muscular chest held the glimmer of sweat.

Yibo hated to express himself out loud, but Yixing had made it his mission to bring him out of his shell.

“Will you hold my wrists down?” Yibo asked in a rush. He clenched his eyes shut, gasping, the mere act of asking for what he wanted overwhelming him.

“While he’s got you by the throat?” 

Yibo nodded frantically.

Yixing’s voice turned gravely. “Yeah, Yibo. I’ll hold you for him, make sure you can’t get away from whatever he wants to do to you.”

Yibo let the moan pour from between his lips. “Thank you, gege. Thank you.”

“I want you to thank me again as he’s pushing his big cock into you.”

Yibo whimpered.

“I want you to thank me as he’s bending your ankles to your ears and fucking deeper into that cute ass of yours.”

“Lay…” Yibo knew he looked and sounded shameless, but he could hide nothing from his friend.

Yixing, watching him, groaned and stroked himself even faster. His cheeks became flushed with color. “Tell me you want him to fill you up, Yibo. Tell me you want Jackson to cum inside you.”

Yibo rocked into his hand, straining for release. “I want—”

“Tell me you want me to take his place and slide my dick into everything he’s left inside of you.”

“Lay!”

If Yixing said anything further, Yibo couldn’t hear it. His mind went blank, his vision sheeting white as he came hard into the sheets. The phone fell out of his slack hand while he moaned into the pillow. Little aftershocks zinged through him as he slid his legs slowly back and forth across the bed.

“That was good,” he panted sometime later. He opened his eyes and picked up his phone. On the screen, Lay sat slumped, his chin on his heaving chest. Yibo pouted. “I didn’t get to see you cum.”

“That’s what happens when you have a seizure,” Yixing muttered. He looked up from beneath his sweat damp bangs and grinned, dimples popping. “You looked sexy, Yibo. Just the sight of you was enough to push me over. But I have to confess: I always feel a little guilty afterwards, like I’m corrupting you.”

Yibo snorted. “You’re not. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh, right. I forgot about the bathroom.”

Yibo ignored the teasing comment and pouted again. “I really wanted to see you, Lay.”

Yixing leered at him. “You’ll see more than enough when it’s the three of us.”

“God.” Yibo rolled onto his back, feeling boneless. It took effort to hold the phone up above him. “I’m already going to be worked up about dancing again. Now I’ll be thinking about you and him, too. I think maybe you’re trying to sabotage my performance.”

“Can’t help it if I’m a competitor.” Yixing’s grin pulled an answering smile from Yibo. “I’ll have my people contact your people and we’ll work out the schedule. You won’t regret this, Yibo. Not any part of it.”

Thinking of the extracurricular activities he might soon become involved in, Yibo had to agree.


	9. Huang Jingyu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yibo. Seems like every gege he encounters is kinky in some way. Or is that a feature, not a bug?
> 
> Anyway, this chapter happened because of the fancam video of Huang Jingyu talking to Yibo at the end of the poverty alleviation event. Then I discovered he was with Yibo at the BMW Night event where they were both smoking hot, so this was deserved. Yibo deserves this.
> 
> tags for this chapter: fantasy somnophilia, pwp, rated E

He knows what Huang Jingyu wants. It hasn’t changed from what the older man wanted back in 2018, when the two of them filmed the BMW Night event together. Yibo is a little surprised that the interest hasn’t waned, but during rehearsals for the Mango Poverty Alleviation show, Jingyu approaches him three times to chat and when they aren't chatting, he is watching Yibo from the corner of his eye.

It’s flattering—Jingyu is a big star growing bigger thanks to his recent drama successes—but Yibo is in a difficult state.

His current success hasn’t come easily. Yibo will never complain about working hard, and indeed he believes that effort is required to achieve anything. But he is tired. He’s exhausted, if truth be told. There aren’t enough hours in the day to accommodate the schedule Yuehua has booked for him. It’s not the agency’s fault. He has repeatedly assured Du Hua herself that he’s fine with working fifteen to twenty hour days when necessary. He has made it clear that he has every intention of becoming a serious actor and he will do what it takes to achieve that. Everyone knows that means working like a dog. Yibo is willing to be that dog.

But the reality of that promise is another matter, especially now that he's battling a small cold. Thank god he’s young. He can’t imagine how this would feel if he were older. Already it’s feeling like it’s too much…but he can’t say so. He signed up for this. And deep down, he believes he needs to do this.

So it’s during rehearsals that sweat suddenly breaks out over his entire body, followed by a rush of chill, as though he’s stepped inside a walk-in freezer. He’s not featured during the segment they’re currently rehearsing, so he steps back from the main stage. When no one notices, he turns and strides briskly off the stage completely, his panic growing. His mouth floods with saliva. The stage decorations tilt ominously. He barely makes it to a trash can before he’s heaving and his mind goes blank with misery.

The production music drowns out the sounds of him vomiting, so at least his dignity is spared that. But there is plenty of crew backstage to witness what’s happening to him. He isn’t in a position to care. Gasping, he closes his eyes and waits for the shivers to finish rippling through him. It doesn’t take long, and once they do, he feels instantly better, but he’s still dizzy. Still light on his feet.

“Here.”

A bottle of water appears in the edge of his vision. He doesn’t bother looking to see who’s holding it, just grabs it and quickly rinses his mouth out.

“Thanks,” he gasps. He presses the bottle briefly to his cheek before drinking the rest of it down.

When he straightens and turns, he finds Jingyu watching him with concern. The taller man has positioned himself to block Yibo from the view of the crew. Yibo is grateful for the consideration.

“You okay, there, Yibo?” the older man asks.

He nods briskly. “I’m fine. Just felt off for a second. I’m okay now.” No matter what, Yibo is appearing in that night’s broadcast, so there is nothing else he can or would say.

Jingyu studies him as though he’s considering saying more. He’s a handsome man—very much a man. He feels like a tough older brother and Yibo finds Jingyu very attractive. But there’s a time and place for everything, and what Jingyu wanted from him at the BMW event wasn’t possible with the scheduling. Besides, Yibo had been younger then. A part of him had been intimidated by the more experienced Jingyu. And now, it seems the chance is hampered by Yibo’s exhaustion.

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” Jingyu says with a nod, as though he’s settled an issue.

Yibo opens his mouth to say it isn’t necessary, but Jingyu pats his back and walks away. Yibo sighs. He’s too tired to worry about the other man’s attention or what it can’t lead to. Right now, all he wants is to feel healthy again.

~~~~~

By the time they begin filming the live segment, he’s feeling much better. Earlier, someone told Wang Han about his sickness and the older man hunted Yibo down. Wang Han forced Yibo to rest in the green room and watched until Yibo ate all the fruit and drank the juices that the DDU host had selected from among the event’s produce.

“You need to take care of yourself!” Wang Han had admonished, looking upset and worried. 

Yibo was sorry for making his mentor react so strongly. “I will, Han-ge,” he had promised around a mouthful of fruit. “I will make sure of it. I already feel energized.”

It wasn’t a lie to make Wang Han feel better. Though Yibo is reluctant to eat live on-air—and has communicated that to his brothers so no one tries to offer him anything—he no longer feels dizzy and sick. The segment goes mostly smoothly, barring the crazed fan who attempts to propose to Dilireba, and Yibo is relieved to get through it. 

While he’s gathered with the other hosts and guests for the group send-off at the end of the event, he finds himself standing near Huang Jingyu. Then Jingyu is practically leaning against him as he speaks into Yibo’s ear.

“Come join me tonight for a celebratory drink,” he tells Yibo above the music and the cheering. “I have a room in the hotel next door.”

Yibo isn’t scheduled to fly to Changsha until the morning. It’s a rare chance to take a break and get some rest, but now it sounds like an opening.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Jingyu goes on, still rubbing his shoulder against him.

Yibo thinks about what they could end up talking about—they have a few shared interests—but mostly he imagines Jingyu’s larger body above him, and he mutters back, “Okay. We can leave together.”

The broadcast finally goes off the air. Yibo doesn’t waste time. He dares to put a hand to the small of Jingyu’s back. “This way,” he tells him. “There’s a connecting tunnel to the hotel.”

He jogs off the stage, but a crew member directs him back in line. Frustrated, Yibo takes his place beside Jingyu again for another few minutes until at last, they’re allowed to leave.

They skip out on the chit chat with the hosts and guests. Yibo’s bodyguards follow them discreetly, though there’s little need for their presence since the tunnel is restricted to hotel guests. Yibo asks Yanyan and Lele to remain in the lobby. Neither man blinks an eye, for which Yibo is grateful. This isn’t the first time they’ve been asked to protect more than his physical person.

During the ride up the elevator, Jingyu talks about the event and then brings up the BMW show. Yibo listens and watches him, but mostly he tries to picture the older man’s body. Jingyu is in great shape and he looks handsome in his suit. Yibo is half-hard by the time they reach Jingyu’s room and he lets them inside.

It’s a basic room. Jingyu’s suitcase sits on the stand. “Make yourself comfortable,” he tells Yibo with a smile. “I’m going to take a quick shower. It was hot on stage tonight.”

Yibo nods and perches on the corner of the king-sized bed. He feels a bit awkward. This is happening more casually than he’d expected, but Jingyu taking a shower is a good sign. Yibo just wished Jingyu had invited him to share it with him.

Yibo kicks off his shoes and removes his tie and denim jacket. It seems too forward to remove anything else, so he leaves the shirt and pants on. There’s nothing to look at in the room and he’s reluctant to check his phone in case the news of his earlier sickness has made it to the internet. He doesn’t want to be on Hot Search because he threw up.

Jingyu has left the bathroom door open and the sound of the running water is relatively loud. It’s soothing, too, though, and Yibo begins to relax, his sexual tension easing while he waits. He decides to scoot back on the bed and prop up his legs—he’s been dancing a lot for the last couple of weeks. A few minutes later he decides to lean back on his elbows, just to be more comfortable...

He’s awakened by the feel of a warm hand pressed to the center of his chest. It feels good and he hums his approval.

“You awake?” The question is placed near his ear, a second before lips brush across it. “Yibo?”

“I’m awake,” he whispers, though he doesn’t open his eyes. He also doesn’t make any move to shy from Jingyu’s touch, hoping he makes it clear that he’s more than okay with the intimacy. Just to be sure, though, he adds, “Keep going.”

Jingyu plays with a button on Yibo’s shirt. “I’m thinking maybe this isn’t a good idea. You’re wiped out. You should go rest.”

“I rested already. I’m good.” 

Reluctantly, Yibo cracks his eyes open. Jingyu’s hair is spiky with moisture. He’s wearing only a towel that’s cinched precariously around his hips. Reclining on one elbow beside Yibo, his chest and shoulder muscles bulge. Yibo can see how wide his pupils are and Jingyu’s nipples are drawn up into tight, hard buds.

“You were sick,” Jingyu reminds him.

“Before. I’m better now. Or have you changed your mind about wanting me?” Yibo asks, already knowing the answer.

“You’re too sexy for me to change my mind,” Jingyu says with a grin. He grows serious again. “I don’t want to make you sick again.”

“You won’t.” Since the other man continues to be hesitant, Yibo says, “If you're that worried, I could just lie here and rest while you touch me. Although I’d prefer to be more—”

“No,” Jingyu cuts him off, “that sounds good.” He licks his lips as his gaze meets Yibo’s. It’s bright with lust. “You need your rest. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be my pleasure.”

Yibo had expected Jingyu to want something more involved. He seems like a guy who’d want to wrestle in bed. But Yibo can see that Jingyu is turned on by the prospect of a passive partner. Or maybe it’s only Yibo he wants passive. Either way, Yibo’s okay with it.

“Just lay there,” Jingyu whispers as he begins unbuttoning Yibo’s shirt. “Let me take care of you.”

A shiver runs through Yibo, surprising him. This isn’t how he’d thought his night would turn out.

Jingyu finishes unbuttoning Yibo’s shirt and pushes the fabric aside to bare his chest. His nipples immediately draw up tight. A small sound escapes Jingyu at the sight.

“Sexy, Yibo,” he murmurs as he draws the backs of his fingers down the center of Yibo’s chest and swirls them around his navel. “Can’t believe it’s taken this long for us to get together. Don’t say anything,” he says quickly when Yibo parts his lips. “Just be still for me.”

It’s not an easy order to follow when Jingyu dips down and kisses his left nipple. Yibo bites his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as Jingyu presses a kiss to his right nipple, too. Jingyu’s fingers, meanwhile, stroke back and forth across his abdomen, caressing the quilt of his abs.

“Loved seeing you ride in on that motorcycle,” Jingyu whispers in between kisses to Yibo’s nipples. “You look good with something between your legs, Yibo. Bent over like that…”

Yibo slides his feet against the bed as desire builds inside him, slowly but surely. He wants to run his hands over Jingyu’s muscular shoulders, wants to comb his fingers along the shaved hair at the sides of Jingyu’s head, but he keeps them flat to the bed. He’s supposed to be ‘resting.’

Jingyu leaves off worshipping his nipples and kisses his way across Yibo’s collarbones to his neck. Yibo hums and turns his head, making more room to kiss him. Jingyu’s breath is hot against his skin, his lips petal soft. Though Yibo wouldn’t mind the scrape of teeth or an open-mouthed kiss, Jingyu kisses him as though Yibo were asleep and he doesn’t want to wake him. It’s sort of maddening and strangely sexy at the same time.

Fingers work at the button and zipper of his jeans until both are open. He sighs with relief after Jingyu carefully tugs his jeans down and off his legs. His underwear follows suit, leaving Yibo fully exposed.

“Don’t make a sound,” Jingyu whispers against his throat. “You’re resting.”

Yibo hears the sound of Jingyu’s towel hitting the floor. He badly wants to sit up and get an eyeful, but he remains where he is while the other man shifts across the bed until he’s lying between Yibo’s thighs. Jingyu’s chest is hot against his hips. Yibo could rut up against his pecs if he wanted to, but he’s being good and playing into the other man’s fantasy. He’s…curious about it.

Jingyu seems content to place dozens of kisses over Yibo’s upper body. The little touches shouldn’t be that arousing, but when there are so many of them and Yibo’s cock is pressed between Jingyu’s impressive pecs—it becomes clear that Yibo’s going to become fully hard in a matter of seconds.

Large hands slide down his ribcage until they cup his hips. Anticipation draws Yibo’s breath faster from his lungs. It’s difficult now to pretend to be resting as Jingyu slowly lowers himself down Yibo’s body, trailing soft kisses along his median. He’s anything but relaxed when the tip of his cock bumps the underside of Jingyu’s jaw.

“What if you were sleeping when I snuck into your room?” Jingyu asks in a tone that doesn’t invite an answer. He noses along Yibo’s shaft while he cradles Yibo’s balls in his fingers. “What if I took advantage of you, and you never knew it?”

Yibo bites his lips together and allows Jingyu’s fantasy to slip into his mind.

“I could do so much to you, Yibo. I could make you feel so good, and you’d believe it was only a dream.” Jingyu carefully bends Yibo’s cock until he can kiss the tip. “Just a beautiful, sexy dream.”

Yibo's whimper spins uselessly in his throat as Jingyu takes his cock into mouth. Jingyu is experienced, deepthroating Yibo almost immediately. Yibo is glad for the strong hands pinning his hips down. He can’t stop himself from trying to thrust as he sinks deep into Jingyu’s throat again and again while the older man squeezes him with tight lips. For as slow as Jingyu moves on him, he’s thorough and devastating. Yibo feels as though his cock is being pulled away from his body when Jingyu raises his head and then he feels like he’s driving into hot suction as Jingyu takes him deep.

It’s torture not to make a sound. It’s a terrible, wonderful torment not to move a muscle and pretend for the sake of fantasy that he’s sleeping through this. Yibo has never felt less relaxed. Every muscle on his body wants to leap away from the bone. A part of him resents Jingyu even as the rest of him shudders from the intense pleasure.

Jingyu pulls off after what feels like an hour of torture and moves to lap at Yibo’s balls and lower still. The press of a tongue to his perineum has Yibo spreading his legs to offer more.

“You’re sleeping,” Jingyu reminds him in a gentle reprimand. He lifts Yibo’s balls out of the way. The tip of his tongue presses against Yibo’s pucker, a reward withheld. “Remember?”

Yibo wants to groan. He wants to pull on his hair and bite his first. He can only breath hard through his nostrils and, with great concentration, relax the straining muscles in his body.

“Good,” Jingyu praises before he wiggles his tongue inside him.

Yibo is in agony. Who would have thought keeping silent would hurt so much? He opens his mouth wide to silently gulp in as much air as he can. Jingyu’s tongue is small but strong, licking Yibo out with determination. His lips seal around his entrance and suck. His teeth scratch gently at his tender rim. His tongue pumps and pumps, opening Yibo in small increments.

 _Fuck me,_ Yibo wants to moan. _Just fuck me until I’m blind._

He cheats and tilts his head back, giving some small expression to the pleasure that’s building inside him, seeking an outlet. But everywhere else he’s as still as humanly possible. He can do nothing about the tiny shivers that race through his limbs.

“I could eat you for hours,” Jingyu groans against his rim.

 _God, please, no._ Yibo would laugh at himself for his desperation, but he’s beginning to pity himself more.

“But I think,” Jingyu says after a smack of his lips, “I want what I’ve wanted for years. I want to fuck this sweet ass of yours.”

Yibo silently praises the heavens. Breathing hard, he forces himself to act boneless while Jingyu takes his time guiding him to lie on his belly over a strategically placed pillow which raises Yibo’s hips off the bed. His legs fall apart naturally and he’s sure no one would blame him for surreptitiously parting them farther while Jingyu retrieves a condom from his wallet and lube from the nightstand drawer. The latter is amusing—why is Jingyu carrying it around?—but right now, Yibo thinks Jingyu is a genius. It makes it easy to accept the finger that prods at his entrance. It makes it feel wonderful as that finger is joined by another finger, and another.

When Jingyu pushes one of Yibo’s butt cheeks to the side, baring his hole, not an inch of Yibo is embarrassed. He’s too horny for that. He shoves his face to the mattress to muffle the sounds that dribble from his lips as Jingyu finally eases his cock inside him.

Jingyu is big. The stretch is immense and Yibo normally would be clawing the sheets at this point. He’s as still as he can be, but no amount of acting can suppress the groan that spills into the bed cover, forced out by Jingyu’s cock pushing in and rearranging Yibo’s insides to fit.

“You’re so tight,” Jingyu pants. “Can’t believe you’re asleep. If you were awake you’d be impossible to get into.”

Yibo gets the hint and wills his body to unclench. It’s like letting go of a rope while he’s hanging over a cliff. It’s anything but easy.

A kiss against his nape helps, as do the kisses that travel from one shoulder to the other while Jingyu begins to thrust. Jingyu is committed to his fantasy. He doesn’t fuck Yibo fast enough or hard enough to jolt his body, just a slow, easy in and out that’s somehow just as effective at making Yibo’s eyes want to roll back in their sockets. Without the big movements, Jingyu’s cock remains partly inside him the entire time, gently stimulating Yibo’s walls and butting against his prostate.

“What if you woke up while I was deep inside you?” Jingyu whispers against his ear. “Would you be surprised? Would you be excited?”

Unsure if he’s still meant to be playing asleep, Yibo keeps his eyes closed and remains silent. It seems to be what Jingyu wants, because he groans deeply and rolls his hips, stirring his cock around. Yibo grits his teeth when Jingyu’s cock rolls across his prostate, sending sparks up his spine.

“I could fuck you all night,” Jingyu goes on quietly, “and you’d never know a thing.”

It’s weird, and so dirty in its way. After all, Jingyu is fantasizing that he’s fucking Yibo while he’s asleep, while he’s unaware and presumably can’t refuse. There’s no consent involved, but it’s also a fantasy, and Yibo understands the appeal of being made to ‘take’ it while being none the wiser. For Jingyu, Yibo is nothing but a warm hole to fuck and cum in, and thinking of himself that way makes Yibo’s balls pulse violently and draw up tight to his body.

The slow sex works its magic on him. He begins to breathe in sync with Jingyu. His cock grinds into the bed, pushed there by Jingyu’s gently rolling hips. At some point Jingyu finds Yibo’s hands and covers them with his own. He laces their fingers together, breaking the fantasy, but Yibo grips back, glad for the opportunity to finally touch the other man and let him know how much this is working for him. Oh, how it’s working for him.

“When you wake up,” Jingyu whispers to him, “you’ll find your ass full of cum. But you won’t know why or who left it, or how much you enjoyed it while it was happening.”

 _Filthy,_ Yibo wants to moan. _Do it to me. Fill me up._

Heat accumulates between Jingyu’s chest and Yibo’s back. It migrates into Yibo’s body. It pools in his hips before rushing into his balls. He grows hotter and hotter while the breath against the back of his neck comes faster and faster. They’re rocking on the bed together now, Jingyu’s hips slapping Yibo’s ass, all pretense gone.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jingyu chants, his voice rising as he slams into Yibo.

Yibo breaks cover, the pressure of Jingyu’s deep fucking too much for him to take. He moans and arches, shoving his ass back to meet the other man’s thrusts.

It catches Jingyu by surprise, makes him cry out, and that’s the end for him. He rams hard into Yibo, driving his last thrusts deep. Yibo doesn’t censor himself anymore, lets fly with the cries he’s been holding back.

“Jing-yu!” he calls out and then he’s cumming hard, too, pouring dampness into the bed cover and mouthing at the fabric. He’s dizzy again, just like that afternoon, but this is a good dizzy. This is a ‘sickness’ he suffers gladly.

Jingyu is a big man. When he finally loses strength, his weight crushes Yibo into the mattress. It feels good. It makes Yibo imagine a second time between them when he’ll be allowed to take on an active role.

It takes several minutes for Jingyu to recover enough to withdraw and dispose of the condom. Yibo rolls onto his side, happy to be free to move. He idly strokes his wet, softening dick, while openly checking out Jingyu’s body. It looks as powerful as it felt.

“How do you feel?” Jingyu asks, patting Yibo on the shoulder as though they hadn’t just been engaged in kinky sex. “Your stomach okay?”

Yibo smiles. “Stomach is fine. Body is fine.” He smirks as Jingyu glances down at him handling his dick. “Everything is fine.”

Jingyu looks like he’s hungry for seconds, but then he shakes his head. “I have a flight. And you need to actually sleep.”

Admitting he’s right, Yibo releases himself and sighs. “Next time.”

Jingyu grins. “Let’s not wait another two years, though, Yibo, okay?”

“Now that I know how good you are?” Yibo shakes his head. “I’ll call in sick to make it happen.”


	10. Zhou Yixuan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little blast from the past 😢 Seeing how Yibo has reverted back to UNiQbaby!Yibo in the latest DDU episodes influenced my take on this chapter. 
> 
> Next, I'll be tackling the Surf Shop!
> 
> Tags for this chapter: UNIQ boys, angst, baby Yibo, hurt/comfort, rated T

Yibo is sixteen when Seungyoun tells him about the video. 

They’re dancing fourteen hours a day while the lessons about how to behave in front of the cameras and how to answer interview questions have been ramping up. Yibo has so much crammed into his head that he takes refuge in the brutal dancing schedule that allows him to stop thinking about it all. So when Seungyoun scoots over to the edge of the mattress that is pressed up against Yibo’s and whispers he has something Yibo needs to see, Yibo is too tired to question why his friend is acting so secretively.

There aren’t a lot of secrets within UNIQ. The boys are together too often and for too long for any to exist for long. From toilet habits to food preferences to body language—Yibo and the other members know each other better than they know anyone else in the world.

Except Seungyoun wants to show him how he’s wrong.

“I got this from Sungjoo,” Seungyoun whispers to him as he thumbs through his phone. “Don’t tell Yixuan. Or even Wenhan. He might tell Yixuan.”

“Why? What is it?” Yibo asks as he slides closer until their shoulders are pressed together. Seungyoun holds the phone in the air above them so it’s easy for them both to see the video starting. “What could—”

He doesn’t finish the question.

The video doesn’t waste time with an intro. Immediately there are two naked bodies on the screen and it takes Yibo about five seconds to figure out what those naked bodies are doing to each other. When he does, he gasps loudly, prompting Seungyoun to burst into giggles before shushing himself.

Yibo has never seen a naked woman before. He lives a life that’s probably seen as abnormal for most teenaged boys, but for him it’s simply life. He practices dancing. He takes lessons in Korean. He takes lessons for culture and manners. He takes lessons for idol behavior. And when he’s not doing any of those he’s horsing around with the other boys. 

There’s never been a chance for privacy. There’s always someone nearby. Only by escaping into the bathroom could Yibo get true privacy, but he isn’t about to hide there just to look up adult videos. It’s simpler not to think about girls and sex, especially when his hyungs refrain from talking about them much. Yibo used to wonder why that was until Wenhan let slip that Yixuan had been given orders by their manager to keep them from discussing adult matters around him.

The sex he sees on Seungyoun’s video is a complete shock to him. Yibo is stunned, and a little grossed out. Naked bodies aren’t exactly sexy, or at least this woman’s isn’t. The guy’s seems normal to him. It looks close enough to his own body for him to feel comfortable looking at it. But the woman’s in the video—her body jiggles and there are curves and crevices that seem complicated and scary. 

“I can’t believe you have this,” he whispers, trying to sound shocked and not as ill as he feels. He wishes he could roll away and go to sleep.

“Can you believe it?” Seungyoun is excited. “I never knew it could be—you know—so physical.”

It’s a silly thing to say but Yibo understands him. The two people on screen roll around a lot and keep changing positions. The camera keeps zooming in on the male actor’s penis as it’s pumping in and out of the woman. Yibo hides a grimace. It doesn’t look sexy or like it’s fun. It seems like a lot of work. And then,

“Gah, I’m getting a boner,” Seungyoun whispers.

Yibo stops breathing long enough that he starts to feel light-headed. He gulps in a breath as he watches Seungyoun reach down and palm himself over his shorts. Yibo watches from the corner of his eye as his friend begins to squeeze himself. When Yibo sees the mound that Seungyoun grips, his own penis jolts.

“You won’t be weirded out if I…?” Seungyoun trails off.

Yibo shakes his head and pretends to keep his eyes on the screen. “Whatever. I won’t watch.”

But he does. He watches every second that Seungyoun strokes himself. Seungyoun finishes before the couple in the video does, but he and Yibo continue watching for a while until Seungyoun declares he needs to use the bathroom. Yibo listens to him wash up and imagines Seungyoun’s hand on his penis, washing off the residue of his spunk. Seungyoun has left the phone on the bed for Yibo to watch, but he ignores it and cautiously places his hand between his legs. He’s so startled to find himself hard that he immediately jerks his hand away.

He and Seungyoun don’t talk about the video for days. But one night Seungyoun has another video to share and Yibo watches it with him until the point when Seungyoun needs to take care of himself and Yibo secretly watches him instead. This second time he knows it probably will look weird if he doesn’t jerk off, too, so Yibo pulls his blanket over himself and sticks his hand beneath it so it’ll look like he’s playing along.

At first, he isn’t. But when Seungyoun makes a breathy moan, Yibo’s fingers creep to his crotch and begin to pet over his swelling cock. 

He cums a few seconds after Seungyoun does.

They don’t talk about the second video. The crazy pace of their schedule climbs even higher to the point that everyone is too exhausted each night to do anything but sleep. Yibo is relieved. Watching the videos makes him feel pressured and uncomfortable. Besides, he doesn’t need them to get off. Sometimes, all he has to do is replay in his mind the sounds that Seungyoun made while he touched himself, and Yibo is instantly hard. It worries him.

It worries him a lot. Enough that Yixuan notices.

“Everything okay, Yibo?” he asks one evening while they’re in between routines. They’re all sweaty and they stink. Yibo’s mind should be blank from the hard work, but clearly it’s not blank enough if UNIQ’s leader can see something’s wrong. Then again, Yixuan takes his mother role seriously. He’s always watching out for the mental and emotional health of the others. It’s usually embarrassing when he inquires about things, but tonight, Yibo appreciates it.

“I maybe—maybe I have a question,” Yibo mumbles. The other guys are in the second studio, doing who knows what. This is a rare moment of privacy and he knows to take advantage of it. “If I tell you…you won’t tell anyone. Will you?”

Yixuan looks briefly surprised but he quickly nods. “Of course, Yibo. I’d never share what you tell me. It’s between us. I promise.”

Yibo believes him. Yixuan is a good person. He would never break a promise or lie. Even knowing that, however, doesn’t make it easier to open up to him.

“What if—” Yibo licks his lips. His heart is pounding. He watches himself pick at the sole of his shoe. He’d rather die than meet Yixuan’s eyes. “What if sometimes I don’t think about girls?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Yixuan says slowly, but it’s clear he doesn’t fully understand what Yibo is getting at. “We’re really busy and working hard. I barely think of them at all, either. I’m too tired.”

“But what if, say, you saw a movie. An ad-dult movie. And you didn’t like it?”

“Adult movies are for adults.”

Yibo rolls his eyes. “Xuan-ge, come on.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t ask how. But you shouldn’t.” Yixuan sighs. “Those kinds of movies aren’t for everyone. I don’t like most of them, myself. They’re too—I don’t know. Too much. Not real, and the way the girl is treated—I don’t like it.”

Yibo nods, feeling they’re getting there. “But do you…do you get hard when you watch them?”

Yixuan blushes and laughs nervously. “Yibo.” When Yibo doesn’t tease him, Yixuan settles. “I usually do, yeah.”

Yibo pulls a piece of rubber off his shoe. “What if you didn’t?” he asks softly. “Would that be wrong?”

Yixuan doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Everyone’s different, Yibo. It’s not wrong.”

“I watched a video,” Yibo whispers. He half-hopes that Yixuan can’t hear him. “With Seungyoun. Don’t be mad at him.”

“You shouldn’t watch those, Yibo. They’re for—” 

“I didn’t get hard,” Yibo rushes on. “I only got hard when—” He can’t say it.

“That’s normal. It’s just personal taste. Girls who I think are pretty are the same ones that Sunjoo thinks are—”

“I watched Seungyoun playing with himself.” Yibo looks up, terrified. “Is that wrong? Does that mean I’m gay?”

Yixuan’s face goes blank for an awful second. But before Yibo can begin to freak out, Yixuan squats next to him and pats his foot. “It’s not wrong. Everyone is different. Everyone has to find out what they like. _Who_ they like.” Yixuan keeps his eyes on his hand as he asks, “Do you think you like Seungyoun that way?”

Yibo is horribly embarrassed—like he’s pretty sure he’s going to die—but he treats the question seriously. “No. I-I don’t think so. I don’t want to d-do anything with him.” His eyes are boiling as his face blushes hotter. “But, Xuan-ge—” His voice drops to a whisper. “I got hard watching him.”

Yixuan doesn’t blink. “I wouldn’t get too worked up about that, Yibo. I can get hard watching anime sometimes.” Yixuan grins goofily. “All sorts of things can do that to us at this age.” He pats Yibo’s foot again. “I don’t think you should stress about it. Maybe don’t tell Seungyoun, since you’re still feeling things out. One day you’ll know for sure. Which way you like. Either way you’re still okay, Yibo. We’ll love you no matter what.”

“Ugh,” Yibo groans.

Yixuan laughs. “We will, Yibo. We’ll love you forever. No matter what.”

“Enough!” He makes an exaggerated gagging sound and Yixuan laughs again and it’s almost back to normal with the awkwardness forgotten for the time being.

But every word that Yixuan has said to him is shelved carefully in Yibo’s mind to be studied and considered later. When he’s feeling more confident. When there’s time.

~~~~~

Time is a luxury when they’re preparing for their debut. Yibo falls into bed most nights practically delirious from exhaustion. He’s in better shape than the others so they must be even worse off. It means there’s no time for watching forbidden videos or for deep introspection. Yibo is grateful. As the months pass, he’s convinced that what happened was only a blip, a temporary bout with curiosity and nothing more.

When they finally debut, the hard work seems to have paid off. They have thousands of fans almost immediately. UNIQ’s appearances are attended by screaming girls who are amazing and scary and awe-inspiring all at once. Yibo finally, truly understands what he’s in for. He’s going to be a star.

It isn’t until they begin doing fan signings that he discovers what being a star actually means. With the UNIQ members sitting behind a long table, they sign posters for the fans who have lined up to meet them. One on one is a vastly different experience from standing on a stage overlooking a crowd. Yibo hears directly from his fans how they feel about him. He’s never felt so loved yet so humble. He’s just a boy, after all. All this, for just a boy.

After signing their group poster for a giggling girl who’s wearing a shirt with Yibo’s own face on it, he looks up to greet the next girl. 

Only it’s not a girl. Three boys are waiting at the head of the line.

Yibo is shocked. Of course he and the UNIQ members have discussed the possibility of fanboys. Mostly they’ve made jokes about the prospect and teased Yibo as being the member most likely to gain such fans. But until this moment, he hadn’t seen any sign that they had male fans. He’d subconsciously wrote it off as unlikely.

His palms grow sweaty and the smile that has come easily throughout the afternoon is suddenly too stiff to form with his lips. Suddenly, it’s as though he’s watching the videos with Seungyoun again, but with triple the anxiety and none of the guilty pleasure. He sits, frozen, as the first boy approaches him.

“Hi,” the boy says. He looks to be around Sungjoo’s age. His appearance is plain and his clothes aren’t stylish. He keeps folding and unfolding the corner of the poster he holds in his hands. Yibo watches the paper tremble.

“Hi,” Yibo says with slightly more confidence than the other boy has shown. “You’re a—you’re a fan?”

The boy nods and smiles faintly. His blush is splotchy and turns his neck a mottled red, but he manages to hold Yibo’s gaze. “Me and my friends, yeah. You guys are really good.”

Yibo’s heart is pounding even though nothing has happened. He’s aware that beside him, Seungyoun has finished signing the girl’s poster and is throwing finger hearts at the watching audience.

“Thanks,” Yibo says. He’s conscious of the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows—because the boy stares at it. “That’s, uh, that’s great. We need all kinds of fans.” Feeling his own face growing hot, he holds out his hand. “I’ll sign your poster?”

“Oh! Yeah. Thanks.” Looking sheepish, the boy places it in front of Yibo. It’s slightly crinkled, as though it’s been rolled and unrolled several times. There are oily fingerprints all over it and Yibo tries not think of sweaty hands as he signs his name.

“You’re my favorite.”

It’s a whisper, barely audible above the noise of the venue. Yibo hears it as bright as day, as though it were shouted. Goose bumps break out over his body and he accidentally adds an extra line to his autograph before pushing the poster back across the table.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, without looking up.

The boy hesitates. Yibo fears he’ll say something worse, something truly damning. But the boy shuffles sideways and holds out the poster for Seungyoun to sign. The fact that the boy doesn’t say a word to Seungyoun makes everything he’s said to Yibo sound a million times louder.

With the second boy, Yibo manages to keep his cool better. He glances at the other boy only once before signing for him. Fortunately, this boy doesn’t seem to mind, or else he’s here for one of the other UNIQ members. Yibo wishes he could ask who, so he could assure himself that he’s not the only member who attracts guys.

And then it’s the final boy. He’s taller than his friends are, skinnier, and with hair dyed electric blue. Ordinarily, Yibo would comment on the hair, but he can’t, because this boy stares at him without fear.

“Hello,” the boy says as he flattens his poster in front of Yibo like he’s spreading out a blanket. “I’m happy to get to talk to you. My name’s Yang Junjie. It’s nice to meet you, Yibao.” When Yibo startles, Junjie grins. “Just kidding, didi.”

It’s extremely presumptuous, borderline rude, but Yibo knows he doesn’t mean it that way. The way Junjie means it seems very clear to Yibo as the tight pants Yibo is wearing begin to grow much tighter. He’s glad for the tablecloth that hides everything.

“You’re my favorite dancer,” Junjie goes on casually. His grin could be innocent, but Yibo senses that it isn’t, that it’s _more._ “You’re my favorite everything, as a matter of fact. You’re very cute.”

Yibo’s smile is probably a bit sickly. He begins scribbling something that’s supposed to be his signature on Junjie’s poster. It could be mistaken for a messed-up doodle. Yibo wants to push away from the table and go hide in a restroom, yet when Junjie reaches out and strokes his index finger across the image of Yibo on the poster—across his cheek, to be exact—Yibo thinks about pushing his own hand forward so Junjie’s finger will touch his skin.

“I’ll be watching,” Junjie says as he rolls up the poster while Yibo sits there squeezing his marker. “Keep up the good work.”

Yibo mumbles a thank-you and Junjie moves on, skipping the other members of UNIQ and walking away from the table entirely.

“Rude,” Seungyoun mumbles beside Yibo as he watches Junjie walk away. “What’d you say to him to make him leave like that?”

“Nothing,” Yibo mutters. “I did nothing.”

They sign throughout the rest of the afternoon. No more boys come up for autographs and Yibo is distracted from his anxiety about them by Seungyoun’s fanservice antics. By the time the event ends and they’re loaded up on the bus, heading back to their dorm, Yibo feels okay. He has survived his first encounter with fanboys without embarrassing himself or losing any fans.

Back home, they prepare dinner and discuss the signing. Sungjoo and Yixuan tell funny stories about some of the weird fan encounters they had while Yibo and Seungyoun laugh their heads off and Wenhan shakes his head and snorts. Yibo considers bringing up Junjie and the familiar way he addressed Yibo, but decides it’s not funny enough to share.

But it’s on his mind as he’s lying in bed.

It’s on his mind as he rolls onto his stomach and rolls his hips once. The pressure against his erection makes him gasp and the sound is loud enough to alarm him. With a quick glance at Seungyoun to ensure he’s still asleep, Yibo slips out of bed and locks himself in the bathroom.

He keeps the light off because if he can’t see himself in the mirror then it’s not really him who’s palming his cock through his shorts. In the darkness he squeezes himself as he pictures Junjie and his familiar smile. Yibo imagines the afternoon differently. This time Junjie doesn’t stroke the poster of Yibo, he reaches directly for Yibo’s face and cups his cheek.

Yibo groans softly. His hand finds its way into his shorts and grips. He pants as quietly as he can as he strokes himself and imagines Junjie brushing his thumb across Yibo’s lips. Yibo licks them, but he can’t feel the other boy’s thumb. But he can imagine it. He can imagine Junjie leaning down and replacing his thumb with his mouth and stealing Yibo’s first kiss.

He cums nearly silently, a skill all of them have learned out of necessity. He’s not ashamed in the dark. The fantasy seems like a mere passing thought in the dark. Yibo cleans himself up and flushes the toilet in case anyone is listening.

After he climbs back into bed, he stares at the ceiling. His chest is tight. He knows this feeling. Frowning, he rolls to the edge of his mattress and slides his leg sideways until it touches Seungyoun’s calf. Just as he’s beginning to fear he won’t be able to sleep, Yixuan’s words drift through his mind in a gentle whisper.

 _One day you’ll know for sure. Which way you like. Either way you’re still okay, Yibo. We’ll love you no matter what._

The knot around his chest slowly loosens. He sleeps like a baby.

~~~~~

His first kiss is with a woman, in a movie in which the members of UNIQ make cameo appearances. It doesn’t count, in other words. Not in Yibo’s mind.

He thinks sometimes about how he wants his first real kiss to be. He accepts that he wants it to be with a guy. He doesn’t know if he’d be okay with it being a fan, or if it needs to be someone in the industry. But either way, it’s fun to think about. For the first time in his life he has sexual fantasies and it makes him feel more normal. He’s more like his UNIQ mates who, now that he’s older, talk freely about sex. 

Though he now understands what lust feels like, he doesn’t act on it. It’s never the right time or the right setting. His career—his UNIQ family—is more important. It’s enough that he knows what he wants. Actually, it’s _everything_ that he knows what he wants. It’s a good feeling. Like finding clothes that fit, and he wishes he could talk about it with the guys.

Someday, he will. And someday the time will be right and the right guy will come along. Yibo will wait for it. He’s enjoying the moment too much to stress about it now. UNIQ is on top of the world.

~~~

All dreams are grand, but not all dreams can come true. 

The hallyu decision wrecks UNIQ. It sends them into a tailspin of depression. No one has any answers for when the ban might be lifted or whether there’s a way to work around it besides begging their Chinese fans to come to Seoul or to fly to Thailand to see them. It’s a solution that isn’t practical. UNIQ as a group won’t survive when they’re only barely hanging on with half an album to their names.

The reality is terrible, and even after nearly a week of being informed of the ban they haven’t been able to digest the news gracefully. The idea to get drunk over barbeque is one they suggest to each other often. It’s just too bad that it doesn’t make the pain soften even a little bit.

Yibo has been building his tolerance since officially becoming an adult, but he’s no match for soju. He’s soon slumped against Yixuan’s shoulder in their booth, staring morosely at a strip of pork belly on the grill that’s burning to a crisp.

They’ve stopped telling each other they’ll find a way. They’ve stopped promising each other that things will work out. They’re beyond that, but Yibo doesn’t think they’ve lost all hope. They’re just exhausted from trying to sound optimistic.

For Yibo, this means he’s stopped focusing on the group and has spiraled into self-pity. Will he have to move back to China now? Will he ever see Sungjoo and Seungyoun again? Will he lose even Yixuan and Wenhan?

“No reason to cry, Yibo,” Yixuan says with a smile and a squeeze of Yibo’s thigh beneath the table.

“I’m not crying,” Yibo mumbles as he smears the back of his hand across his face. He ignores the streaks of moisture left on his skin. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Okay.”

Across the table from them, Sungjoo’s head is tipped back and his eyes are closed. Seungyoun’s chin is on his hand as he flicks banchan across his plate with his chopsticks. Wenhan is staring into space. For some reason he has a glass of soju in each hand.

Yibo sears the image of them onto his brain because he fears it will be the last he has of them. But thinking so hard has an unanticipated effect on him.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he blurts.

Yixuan reacts with speed, sliding out of the booth and tugging Yibo out by the arm. He drags Yibo to the restrooms and holds him up as he rids himself of dinner.

“Gross,” Yibo mutters at the sink. He washes his mouth out but his tongue still tastes sour and slightly sweet from the soju. “I hate throwing up.”

“You have to be careful not to drink too much,” Yixuan advises as he leans against the neighboring sink. “It’s not good for you. You’re still growing.”

Yibo sighs. He doesn’t need a mother right now. But when Yixuan scoots over and squeezes him in a one-armed hug, Yibo sinks into it.

“Nothing will be the same,” Yibo whispers, staring down into the sink so he won’t have to see the tears in his eyes in his reflection.

“No,” Yixuan agrees quietly. “But maybe they’ll be better. One day. We don’t know how long the ban will last. Anything could happen.”

“Can it?”

“You’ll be okay,” Yixuan persists. “We all will. Don’t worry, Yibo-didi.”

Yibo hiccups. “He called me that, too.”

He doesn’t regret his loose tongue. He’s been dying to spill his secret for a long time. Now is the best time to do it. He will always trust Yixuan. For the rest of his life. Even if Yibo never sees him again. His eyes turn to acid at the thought.

“Who called you that?”

“A fan at our first signing. Junjie.” Yibo drags his fingers through the drops of water clinging to the basin. “He called me didi. He told me I was his favorite.” He laughs bitterly. “Who’s he going to call didi now that we’re done?”

He doesn’t say anything more, but there’s a reason he’s unloaded on Yixuan and not the others.

“Did you like him?” Yixuan asks gently.

Yibo suddenly wants to cry. He blames it on the soju. “Maybe,” he whispers.

“You should have pointed him out to me,” Yixuan says lightly. “I would have told you whether he deserved you.”

Yibo turns on the faucet, cups a handful of water, and splashes it into his face. Yixuan goes “Whoa!” but doesn’t let go of Yibo’s shoulders despite the sprinkling he’s received. That’s why Yibo is here with him. Because Yixuan won’t let go.

“I don’t know how it’s going to be in the future,” Yibo confesses, referring to more than UNIQ. He sniffs and blinks through the water and tears. “I’m scared.”

“There’ll be good times and bad times. Same with everything. Either way, you know you can call me. I like it when you call me.”

“Xuan-ge, I live with you,” Yibo groans.

“Maybe not always,” Yixuan says in his first concession that everything will be changing. “It won’t matter, though. I’ll always be your papa.”

Yibo raises his eyes to the mirror. He looks like he’s thrown up and has been crying. Yixuan carries a hint of that smile that never seems to leaves his face, as though nothing in the world is ever so bad that it can ruin his mood. Yibo sears this image onto his brain, too.

“I thought you were our mama,” Yibo says softly, unapologetically needy.

“I don’t discriminate,” Yixuan replies with a grin, and Yibo laughs because it’s a dumb comment.

But he also holds it because it’s true, and Yixuan has taught him that things that are true are meant to be embraced.

“We’ll be famous again one day, Xuan-ge.” Yibo nods decisively. “We’re too good for this to be the end.”

Yixuan grins. “I’m counting on it.”

“And we’ll be together on stage again. Somehow. Maybe not as a group, but somehow. I know we will.”

Yixuan merely nods. It’s a truth that doesn’t need to be spoken. Yibo is learning all about those, too. One day, he won’t be afraid of any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a request for fencing gege from DDU. If anyone has a link to the subbed version I'd appreciate it for, you know, reasons.


	11. Han Dongjun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm grateful that Yibo went on Summer Surf Shop. He was so happy the entire time 🥰 And I'm also happy that he and Han Dongjun met and discovered their great friendship. I think Dongjun is perfect summer fling material, and I'm glad in this fic that he was Yibo's 😁
> 
> tags for this chapter: bros being bros, rated E

“Ah, Wang Yibo,” Bridgette said knowingly. She had a keen sense for business and had already expressed quite a few ideas for how their shop could turn a profit. Han Dongjun saw by the gleam in her eyes that she was already calculating the economic impact that their new guest would have. “Lots of eyes will be on us now and we’ll pick up some eager customers.”

She glanced at Dongjun with an eyebrow raised. He could have pretended not to understand her look but there was no point. It was he who’d confided to her earlier in the day that he hoped whoever guested on their show was cute and fun. It was he who’d listened to her question—“But what if it’s a guy?”—and shrugged before answering, “My answer remains the same.”

Life was one big joyride for him, and he believed in equal opportunity when it came to pleasure. Girls were less dangerous for his career, but if an exceptional guy came along and the circumstances were workable, Dongjun didn’t have a problem bending the rules to have some fun.

“You’re friends with him, too, right?” Justin asked him right before he tried to do a cartwheel across the grass.

“Yes!” Dongjun said with feeling. “But online only. Yin Zheng introduced us because we have so much in common, but we haven’t met in real life yet. I’m really looking forward to this!”

Huang Xuan smiled at his enthusiasm. “I know him online, too, because of our next project together. I’m glad we’re getting the chance to get to know him in person.”

“It’ll be awesome!” Dongjun declared and grinned when Bridgette snickered.

The show producers had informed them just ten minutes ago of the identity of their first guest because he was due to arrive at any minute. While keeping the identity of the guest a complete surprise would have been entertaining for the audience, it was better that the cast was prepared for who was coming so no one accidentally said something they shouldn’t. Everyone seemed to be pleased and amazed that it was Wang Yibo. Yibo was a huge star. His presence would undoubtedly lift the ratings for Summer Surf Shop, which explained why he was staying on for two nights.

And Yibo was good-looking. Everyone knew this. Yet when the gate opened and a figure stepped inside, carrying a skateboard, Dongjun sensed that he wasn’t the only one who was still rendered surprised.

Wang Yibo in person wasn’t like his photos or videos.

Wang Yibo was better. He was beautiful, and Dongjun began making mental preparations to bend the rules.

~~~~~

Honestly, he’d expected it to take longer. Like, the second night at the earliest. But Yibo’s arrival felt like the meeting of long-lost friends. He and Dongjun hit it off immediately. In his excitement, Dongjun acted like a dog let off the leash, but Yibo wasn’t put off by his energy and seemed enthusiastic about their friendship, too. 

They all stayed up longer than they’d intended, having too much fun learning about their new guest, until Yibo off-handedly mentioned that he’d just flown in. Huang Xuan took the lead at that point and called it a night. Though the tent didn’t end up being used, Dongjun was thrilled that Yibo was eager to share his cabana with him. A couple of strategically placed ball caps later, and the two of them were wishing each other good night while lying a foot apart in the odd double bed.

Light from the production lamps illuminated the ceiling of Dongjun’s room. The walls were so thin that Dongjun picked out the individual voices of the crew as they prepared the sets for tomorrow’s filming. If Dongjun were interested in actually sleeping, he’d have plenty to complain about. But that wasn’t on his agenda just yet.

It was warm even this late into the night. The alcohol in his veins contributed to the heat, as did having a second body in bed. Dongjun turned his head on his pillow and regarded Yibo’s profile that was illuminated from below by the outside light. Dongjun could just make out the slightly darker flush on his smooth cheeks, courtesy of too much alcohol after what had probably been a too long day. Yibo’s brutal work schedule was notorious within the industry and Dongjun had seen hints of his weariness.

Because of that, Dongjun would have felt a little guilty for what he intended to do if he couldn’t see the fast rise and fall of Yibo’s chest. Dongjun wasn’t the only one finding it difficult to sleep. He hoped they were both awake for the same reason.

Before he could question the wisdom of his actions—never a good idea when the intention was a good time—he reached over and lightly touched his finger to the prominent ridge of Yibo’s Adam’s apple. As he had expected, the tempo of Yibo’s breathing changed instantly. He opened his eyes, though he didn’t turn his head.

“Everyone’s obsessed with this thing,” Dongjun said softly as he traced the uppermost tip of his throat knot. “I’ve seen photos that don’t even show your face, just this. It’s crazy.”

Yibo only smiled. He swallowed, either deliberately or self-consciously, making the knob of cartilage slide back and forth beneath Dongjun’s finger. 

“Cool.” He followed the downward slope of the knob to the top of Yibo’s throat. When Yibo remained still, Dongjun pushed his luck.

He watched his finger rise up the underside of Yibo’s jawline. It was a jawline to cut steel, an intriguing contrast in a face that was mostly smooth and soft. Dongjun’s heartbeat began to climb along with his fingertip as it reached the tip of Yibo’s chin and crested the point. 

“What are you doing?”

Dongjun drew his hand back. “Nothing.” 

Yibo didn’t turn to look accusingly at him, so Dongjun hoped that things were still okay between them. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I think I’m too tired,” Yibo said with a smile that was wry.

“That’s weird.”

Yibo turned his head to look at him. His eyes were dark, shadowed by his cheeks. “Why are _you_ awake and messing with me?”

Dongjun grinned widely. “I mess with everyone.”

“Ah. I thought I was special,” Yibo said with a straight face.

Was he fooling with Dongjun? Dongjun didn’t know him well enough to be sure. Chatting with someone online wasn’t the same as seeing them in person and learning their mannerisms.

“You’re really bulky.”

The change of topic caught Dongjun off-guard. He looked down at his own chest dumbly. “I have a lot of muscles. I work out,” he added inanely.

“I work out, too,” Yibo said with a sigh. He rolled onto his side, resting his cheek on his hands. His gaze seemed to carry physical weight as it swept over Dongjun’s body. “I don’t look like that.”

“You don’t have the same body type. I don’t think it’s even possible for you to bulk up. You’re meant to be slender.”

“Skinny, you mean,” Yibo said.

“Skinny. Slender. Whatever. You know what I mean. You don’t look bad,” Dongjun clarified quickly. “It suits you. It suits your…look.”

Yibo’s lips twitched. “What’s my look?”

“The rocker type,” Dongjun said, thinking quickly.

“Rocker?!” Yibo’s eyes went round as he laughed. “You think I look like a rock star?”

“Like an idol,” Dongjun amended, faintly embarrassed. Yibo was really throwing him off his game. “You never see a big, muscle-y idol, do you?”

Yibo smirked. “I guess not.”

“Right. They all look like you. It’s the look.”

Yibo snickered softly.

“You’re making fun of me,” Dongjun growled. “You’re trying to make me sound stupid.”

“I don’t think I need to try,” Yibo said, deadpan.

“You little—”

It was purely reflexive to dive across the mattress onto Yibo, who couldn’t roll out of reach with the shelves blocking his way. Dongjun smothered him with his larger frame, crushing Yibo’s chest with his own. When Yibo tried to reach up to the top of the mattress to pull himself out from beneath him, Dongjun caught his arms by the elbows and pinned them down beside his ears.

“You’re stuck,” Dongjun declared, breathing harder than seemed required given the light tussling.

Beneath him, Yibo giggled. Dongjun could smell the beer on his breath even through the toothpaste he’d used.

“This is why I wish I didn’t look like a ‘rock star’,” Yibo lamented. He abruptly dug his heels into the mattress and tried to heave Dongjun off.

But Dongjun weighed far more than him and was able to adjust, spreading his knees to shove Yibo’s legs wide. Yibo’s heels slipped across the mattress, taking away his leverage.

“Fuck,” Yibo panted, still grinning.

“You’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” Dongjun accused with a grin of his own.

Yibo gasped before he burst out laughing.

“Shhh!”

When Yibo continued to laugh, Dongjun thrust against him to get his attention. Like elbowing someone in the ribs.

Except driving his erection—where had that come from?—into the hips of another guy who he had spread out beneath him was nothing like elbowing them in the ribs.

Yibo stopped laughing. He stared up at Dongjun, who held his breath while his heart jackhammered against his ribcage.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” Yibo whispered back. His tongue peeked out like a turtle investigating the area. “And you mean this, too, right?”

He rolled his hips up, pushing something that was just as swollen and rigid as Dongjun’s cock against his hip.

“Zheng-ge told me,” Yibo said softly, his gaze steady.

Dongjun would have groaned from embarrassment if he weren’t so turned on. “He told you what?”

“That you wanted to do a video call with him. Doing…that.”

Dongjun had been drunk then, too, and maybe a little high from a racing session. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, that much was certain. Luckily Yin Zheng had been cool about it and turned him down in a joking way that had spared most of Dongjun’s ego.

He gave a crooked smile. “Turned out he wasn’t into me that way. Unbelievable, huh?”

Yibo licked his lips again. “I might be.”

Dongjun had no chill. “Yes!” he hissed excitedly. “You don’t know how much I was hoping you would be.”

“You like me that much?” Yibo asked, smiling.

“Who doesn’t?” Dongjun said carelessly. “You’re Wang Yibo. _Look at you._ ”

Yibo smirked, but Dongjun knew he wasn’t as cool as he was playing it. Dongjun could feel the rabbit-race of Yibo’s heart through his dick, of all places. Dongjun found it cute.

“Wang Yibo,” he breathed before giving in to temptation and bending down to kiss the mochi pillow of the younger man’s cheek. It was as delightfully springy as he’d hoped. “I’m really glad we got to meet.”

“I’ll save my opinion until after.”

“What?! You shouldn’t question a man in such a way. Especially a handsome, talented one like me.”

As Yibo laughed again, Dongjun used his own head to tip Yibo’s back, stopping the laughter. He scraped his teeth around the sharp ledge of Yibo’s jaw.

“Don’t mock me if you want me to treat you special,” Dongjun whispered as Yibo shivered in his hold. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Surf shop hospitality?” Yibo asked, his voice airy. “Does every guest receive this sort of welcome?”

Dongjun grinned. “Depends on if they’re as cute as you are.”

“Cool, you mean.”

Dongjun licked across that pillowy cheek. “Sorry. That’s what I meant. Cool.”

It was one adjective for Yibo, certainly, but not the first or even third that came to Dongjun’s mind. But he knew his friend wouldn’t want to hear any of that. They were bros, and bros didn’t call each other beautiful even if the description was accurate in every language on Earth.

“Cool guy,” he said, still smiling, “let’s have some fun together.”

It was somewhat surreal to strip off while dozens of people continued to work just a few yards away. But it wasn’t so strange that Dongjun couldn’t concentrate. He doubted anything short of a typhoon could tear his attention from the slender, angular body beneath him which seemed to glow even in the dimness. Yibo had claimed he wanted to get tan, but as Dongjun kissed across his collarbones, he doubted Yibo would darken by more than a shade. His skin was just too creamy.

With an impressive stretch, Dongjun snagged his bottle of so-called hand lotion that he’d placed beside the bed in a moment of positivity. He was glad for his optimism as he slicked up his and Yibo’s dicks.

“Jeez, you’re big. Not as thick as me, but longer.” Propped on one elbow, Dongjun watched himself stroke Yibo and him together. “You must get a lot of attention with a dick like this.”

“You’d be surprised.” Yibo shivered as Dongjun played with the head of his cock. “No one’s touched me in a year. I would have jumped you if you hadn’t made the first move.”

“Wow.” Dongjun couldn’t imagine going without sex for that long. He had a pretty active sex life. “That’s a shame. You’ve got everything, career-wise. You should get plenty of action in bed, too.” He squeezed them tight together in one hand and watched Yibo’s lashes flutter. “Guess I’ll need to do my best to give you what you’ve been missing.”

Yibo grinned but it fell away quickly once Dongjun settled fully atop him and began to grind their hips together.

They could hear the crew outside, who were just loud enough to cover the sound of Dongjun and Yibo’s soft gasps and groans. Unsure how Yibo felt about kissing, Dongjun was content to map out every inch of Yibo’s swan-like neck and spend time nibbling on and simply breathing in his ear, which seemed to affect Yibo a lot. His thin legs came up around Dongjun’s hips and tugged him in tight. Gasping, Dongjun began to hump him in earnest, driving their cocks together in slippery heat. The mattress, thank god, didn’t squeak.

“You feel so good,” he whispered. He pushed Yibo’s elbows higher up the bed, so his arms were extended above his head, and playfully bit at his biceps. He wanted to leave bruises and bite marks, but playful nipping would have to do. “I would do some dirty things to you if I could.”

“Not the best place,” Yibo panted as he rolled his hips up to meet Dongjun’s. “My manager would kill me if I were caught sleeping with a co-worker in the middle of a job.”

“Then we’ll have to steal a couple of jet skis and run away together. Open up our own surf shop.”

Yibo’s chest rumbled with a low laugh. “I’m game if you are.”

“Anytime.”

It didn’t seem to matter that they’d met in person only a few hours ago. Chemistry was chemistry, and theirs had blended into something potent. Dongjun released Yibo’s elbows to run his hands over his slim body. Yibo did his own touching, firmly caressing Dongjun’s shoulders and arms as though he were touch-starved, which wasn’t out of the question considering his insane schedule. Dongjun felt duty-bound to give him what he’d been missing. Grabbing fistfuls of Yibo’s tight bubble butt, he pulled Yibo’s hips up so Dongjun could really grind down and dirty against him.

Yibo groaned and did his own grabbing, his large hands managing to get a good grip on Dongjun’s ass and guide him to rock into him.

“Come on,” Yibo goaded, his voice roughened and thick. Such a deep voice for such a pretty face. It drove Dongjun a little wild.

Wild enough for him to whisper, “You ever had sex with a guy? I mean real sex?”

The legs around Dongjun’s waist clamped tight. Dongjun slowed but didn’t stop, afraid of what Yibo’s new tension meant.

“I have,” Yibo said quietly.

Dongjun willed himself not to cum. “You wanna?”

“Even with people outside?”

Dongjun lifted up enough to look at Yibo’s face in the semi-dark. His eyes were large, but not with apprehension or disgust.  
“As long as you can keep quiet,” Dongjun told him. He thrust hard, reminding Yibo of the girth of his cock. “I can if you can.”

That famous Adam’s apple bobbed in Yibo’s throat. “It’s been a long time.”

“A year, according to you.”

“Yeah.” Yibo gulped again. “I miss it. I miss that feeling of having another guy fill me…”

“Oh, man.” Dongjun dropped his forehead to Yibo’s. “You gotta tell me yes or no right now, Yibo. You can’t tease me.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. He clawed at Dongjun’s back. “Yes. Fuck me. I won’t make a sound. But you have to do it right. I want to feel it tomorrow.”

Dongjun growled low in his throat. “You’re gonna get what you’re asking for, don’t worry.”

He snagged the pack of condoms he’d brought along because well, he brought them everywhere. He was a popular guy. In no time he was sheathed and slicked up and had two fingers inside Yibo, testing the stretch.

“Mmmf,” Yibo whimpered behind the wrist he was biting down on.

“Don’t let them know,” Dongjun taunted him even as he curled his fingers in search of his friend’s prostate. He grinned with triumph when Yibo’s eyes flew open and his head shot back. “Gotta keep quiet, Yibo. Even while I’m doing _this_.”

He stroked over the gland with his fingertips, a teasing come hither motion that had Yibo arching off the bed, held only in place by Dongjun’s hand on his hip.

“Shh,” Dongjun cooed, thoroughly enjoying this. He slipped another finger inside and began to carefully pump them, occasionally rubbing Yibo’s prostate to keep him in the game. “You ready for me?” he breathed against Yibo’s tipped back jaw. “You ready to be reminded of how it feels?”

“Yes,” Yibo moaned. “Do it. Come on.” He kicked his heels into Dongjun’s ass. “Stop wasting time.”

Chuckling, Dongjun withdrew his fingers and guided himself into position. His laughter faded as he began to push in. Beneath him, Yibo clenched his eyes shut and Dongjun couldn’t help watching him hawkishly for signs of pain. For as athletic as Yibo was, he gave off vibes of fragility that Dongjun couldn’t ignore. It’d kill him if he accidentally hurt Yibo, but to the relief of them both, he managed to fully sheathe himself without a single wince from Yibo.

“I’ll wait a minute,” Dongjun told him. Yibo’s body had clamped down tight around him.

“I just need…a few seconds.”

“It’s cool.” Dongjun kissed the sweat sliding down Yibo’s temple. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

He took the opportunity to run his hands over Yibo’s body again, caressing his sides and the lean lines of his legs. Dongjun had been wrong in his earlier declaration. This wasn’t an idol’s body, this was a dancer’s body, honed to a slim perfection. Touching him was like touching a heated sculpture and Dongjun prayed Yibo relaxed soon because he was dying to take his pleasure from him.

“Have you fooled around with Justin?”

Shocked by the question, he lifted up to see Yibo’s face. “He’s like, twelve, Yibo. I like them young but not _that_ young.”

Yibo gave him a wry smile. “Just curious. And he’s not twelve.”

“Whatever.” Dongjun rolled his eyes and then he rolled his hips. Yibo’s eyes slammed shut. His fingernails dug into Dongjun’s shoulders as he moaned. 

Dongjun began to fuck him with long, slow strokes that opened him up gently but surely. “You ever sleep with Yin Zheng?” he asked casually.

“Yes.”

Dongjun gaped. “Really?”

Yibo cracked an eye open and smirked. “I like older guys.”

“Damn.” Dongjun hiked one of Yibo’s thighs up and drove in hard, slamming the air from Yibo’s lungs. “Well, prepare yourself, didi. This gege is going to rock your world.”

He said the phrase in English, which delighted Yibo who raised his other leg high, showing off his flexibility. Dongjun grabbed that leg, too, and pressed Yibo’s knees to his shoulders. He winked down at the younger man. “Remember: don’t make a sound.”

“I told you I—ah!”

Dongjun smothered Yibo’s cry with his mouth. As far as first kisses went, it wasn’t the sexiest. Or maybe it was, all sloppy lips and gasping breaths. Dongjun groaned as he pounded into Yibo, driving sounds from him that Dongjun had to swallow to prevent the crew from hearing. It was risky, but Dongjun couldn’t bring himself to stop. The more noises Yibo failed to suppress, the more Dongjun wanted to hear from him. Everyone always said Yibo was quiet. Dongjun wanted to prove that he wasn’t. 

“Shhh,” he breathed against Yibo’s damp lips. He smiled as Yibo whimpered again. He licked across his mouth. 

“If you go…slower,” Yibo panted.

“Nope.” Dongjun had located his prostate. He targeted it, sliding his cock back and forth in the same spot, pinning Yibo down more firmly as he began to writhe. “You said you could be quiet, didi.”

“Nnnh, that was before I learned how fat your cock is.”

A shiver ran all the way to Dongjun’s toes. “Say that again.”

Yibo snorted with laughter. “We’re talking too much already.”

They _were_ talking a lot, but that was just how Dongjun did things. He loved to express himself every way he could. He didn’t have a problem, though, with letting his body speak for him this time.

“Okay, but that means you, too,” he said as he ground against Yibo’s ass, filling him as deeply as he could. “You can’t let them know what you’re letting me do to you.”

Yibo reached up and yanked on his hair. Dongjun grunted at the pain before he retaliated by bending his flexible partner in half until Yibo’s weight shifted onto his shoulders and the back of his neck.

“Oh, no,” Yibo whimpered, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re right on my—”

Dongjun knew exactly where he was. He had to clamp his hand over Yibo’s mouth while he fucked down into him. Yibo had clearly given up all attempts to censor himself now that Dongjun had him where he wanted him. With his eyes rolled back in his head, Yibo had become a creature of pleasure, simply reacting to the sensations Dongjun inflicted on him.

Dongjun wanted to inflict _everything_ on him. Yibo was like a doll beneath him, all gangly, loose limbs and that face that Dongjun couldn’t get enough of. Yibo’s prettiness weirdly made Dongjun want to hurt him—not really, of course, but in a filthy, sexual way. He had to continually remind himself that they were currently on the set of a show. This wasn’t the time or place for kinky shenanigans.

Though maybe one day…

Imagining all the things he might get to eventually do to Yibo was a trigger too strong to resist.

“I’m gonna cum,” Dongjun warned as the sweat dripped into his eyes. “Are you close?”

Yibo nodded urgently behind the hand covering his mouth. Dongjun groaned in relief and reached between them to where Yibo’s cock was crushed against his own abdomen. As soon as Dongjun began jerking it, Yibo’s voice began to climb. Dongjun prayed the walls were thicker than he knew they were as he fucked them to the finish line.

“Come on, Yibo-didi,” he panted as he speared Yibo again and again. “Squeeze it out of me. I know you can do it.”

Yibo groaned before he clenched down tight.

“Oh—shit!”

Yibo’s muffled cry ran counterpoint to Dongjun’s hearty groan as he slammed in and held there. As he pumped his cum into the condom, Yibo spattered himself with his release, painting his milky skin even whiter.

“Look at you!” Dongjun blurted with a grin. “Wang Yibo, you dirty boy.”

Yibo peeled Dongjun’s hand off his mouth. “Shut up,” he gasped. “You made me do this.”

“Ha! Maybe I did.” Dongjun was pretty proud of himself. Yibo’s first night on the show and already he was wearing his own cum on his face. “But, ugh,” Dongjun said as he carefully pulled out and backed up on his knees, “now I’m even sweatier.”

Yibo ran his hands through his damp hair. “You think we could get away with skinny dipping?”

Dongjun inhaled sharply. “Let’s find out.”

They made it into the ocean two hours later, at four in the morning. If their shorts floated on the swells, no one was there to see it.

“I thought I’d get some sleep here,” Yibo confessed as he swam the breaststroke around Dongjun.

Dongjun caught one of his wrists and dragged him through the water and to his chest. Slinging his arms around Yibo’s thin back, he swam them away from shore. “You’re not sleeping and I’m not sleeping. I hope you understand that.”

Saltwater on Yibo’s lashes sparkled beneath the moonlight as he smiled. “Yin Zheng is going to laugh when he hears about my summer fling with you.”

Dongjun kissed a starry droplet off the tip of his nose. “Zheng-ge is going to be jealous. Too bad for him for turning down this sexiness.”

Yibo combed his fingers through the wet hair at Dongjun’s nape, smiling when it made him shiver. “Are you going to be able to keep this hidden from the rest of the cast?”

“Yibo, you have no idea how many times I’ve had to hide my sex life from people. It won’t be a problem.”

Later, when Dongjun watched the episodes of Yibo on the iQiyi app, he had to laugh at himself. They looked like the best of friends, sure, but even the producers had picked up on what a great match they made and had created some suggestive edits. Ah, well. The truth was too beautiful to hide. As he grinned at a clip of him and Yibo rinsing off beneath the outdoor showers, Dongjun indulged in anticipation of their future LEGO dates. It was good to have friends with similar interests. Some would even call that hot.


	12. Anonymous SDC Cameraman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a ficlet and not really exciting or interesting on its own. I just wanted to post something so I could squeal with you guys about this clip. I think I've watched it a hundred times now 😎 Yibo, you are too hot!
> 
> tags for this chapter: fanboy Yibo, rated G

Maybe he shouldn’t have broken up with his girlfriend before joining the staff of Street Dance of China. It’s his third season working the show, so he thought he knew what to expect. He was wrong. He hadn’t counted on the presence of a certain young captain named Wang Yibo to turn his world on its ear.

It’s not like the cameraman swings that way. Up until last week, he’s been with the same girl for four years. Maybe he was going to propose eventually—it seems like something one is supposed to aspire to. What he does know is that he enjoyed having sex with her and he never, ever imagined having sex with another man, much less a celebrity.

While he’s filming SDC, though, he starts to think that his ex was his buffer against some uncomfortable truths.

The job started out normally enough. Earlier, the cameraman filmed the opening show which was pretty standard. The only thing of interest was that he was assigned to follow Wang Yibo and film his candid moments during the evening. The cameraman didn’t expect anything special, but he was able to catch Yibo playing around on his skateboard and more interestingly, he filmed Yibo meeting and gushing over the French dancer Bouboo. That had been a bit amusing, for the cameraman can’t remember the last time he’s seen a captain fanboy over a contestant. Yibo was practically giddy over the encounter, and the cameraman had been glad to catch it on film.

Next, the cameraman was moved to Yibo’s street to film auditions. It was there that the cameraman’s expectations began to crumble.

It was one thing to watch Yibo react animatedly to the dancers. It was another to film him openly seducing Bouboo in front of everyone. The cameraman was so shocked that he automatically zoomed in and ended up memorializing a full two seconds of Yibo licking his lips and gazing at Bouboo in what the cameraman has heard his Korean friends refer to as ‘aegyo’. To the cameraman, it’s flat out seduction. It was so blatant it made him blush to the tips of his ears. Still, it’s important that he filmed it. He knows it’ll be a highlight of the day and the viewers will love it. That’s why Yibo is here. To bring in the viewers.

The cameraman just isn’t sure now that it’s going to happen purely because of dance.

Things grow progressively more stressful as the competition goes on. The cameraman is assigned to the center of the battle ring, tasked with filming Yibo and his team from the front during their first battle with Jackson Wang’s team. It means that everything that Yibo does—every look, every sound he makes, every move he attempts—is aimed at the cameraman’s lens.

So he misses nothing, especially not a certain group choreography that the cameraman has never before seen performed at SDC.

The cameraman finds it painfully awkward to stand in front of all the dancers while a boner is tenting his pants. He tries to be professional, but how can he be professional when faced with the conundrum that is Wang Yibo? What started out as a harmless bounce and krump routine has spiraled into something else. The young captain is being physically ravished in front of the cameraman’s eyes and he appears to _enjoy_ it. The cameraman doesn’t see any aversion to the hands that slide over Yibo’s body and tug at his clothing. Yibo seems completely at ease with the handling. No, he’s playing up to it. And whose idea was such a scene, anyway? Yibo had to have approved it, if not suggested it himself.

The cameraman is perturbed.

As the scene plays out, the dancers around them go wild. For the first time that the cameraman can recall, he senses lust in the air. It’s an animal scent with a clear focus. The two dancers’ hands are not the only hands that want to molest Wang Yibo. If the circumstances were tweaked and the location changed, the cameraman wouldn’t be at all surprised if the audience succumbed to an orgy with Wang Yibo at its center. It’s madness, and the cameraman thinks to himself that maybe apologizing to his ex-girlfriend about the things he’s not actually sorry for would be a smart course of action. It’s either that, or save a copy of this footage for personal use later tonight in his hotel room. 

Impossible. 

He keeps thinking about that tongue peeking out, though. He’d better make sure he films everything.


	13. Jackson Wang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is officially August 5th where I am, so this is my birthday post for Yibo. Nothing like a birthday bang amirite?
> 
> I was going to wait until the end of the show to write Jackson's chapter, but holy hell, that'd feel like an eternity, so you're getting it early. And of course, I still intend on a captains' gangbang later, so you've got that to look forward to. This chapter is a follow-up to Yixing's chapter, which in turn is a follow-up to my other story, [Get a Grip](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314481). I'd suggest reading those first to get the full bang for your buck.
> 
> Tags for this chapter: dom/sub, light breathplay, rated E

Yibo is hyped. He’s beyond hyped. He feels like a rocket hurtling toward the sun. He’s battled just like in the old days and _damn_ did it feel good. It was beyond incredible. He’s still soaring an hour after the cameras have been turned off. Sitting down, to say nothing of sleeping, feels like it will be impossible for the rest of the night.

He wanders around the set of Street Dance of China, which is now as familiar to him as the DDU studios. The intersection where the battles take place and the streets themselves feel like his neighborhood. The dancers milling about singly or in groups feel like his neighbors. He knows nearly all of them, and they definitely know him. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling he’s done in the last nine hours but that doesn’t stop him from grinning back as he fields compliments and congratulations from the dancers. Most of them aren’t even from his team, which makes him feel extra good. Being respected for something he loves this much is the icing on the cake.

As great as it all is, and as much as he wants to bask in it forever, he understands that he can’t loiter on the streets much longer. He’s supposed to be working later in the morning. Somehow, he needs to wind down in preparation for his flight. With a last, happy sigh and a find look around him at the dancers, he heads with his bodyguards for his trailer outside the set.

The captains have each been assigned one and he looks hopefully to Yixing’s, but the lights are out. Yibo shrugs and continues to his own trailer. Once Lele checks it out to make sure no sneaky fans have managed to stash themselves inside, Yibo climbs up to the door and pauses there to agree on a time when Lele and Yanyan will come back for him.

“Get some rest, if you can,” Yanyan tells him with a smirk because they both know that’ll be impossible. Yibo may as well be on cocaine.

But inside, he dutifully takes off his overshirt and thinks about the shower he needs and whether it’ll make him sleepy. He doubts it, but he should probably try—

When he hears the knock on his door, he hurries to open it. He nearly says, “Thank god,” when he sees who it is, but settles for a more restrained, “Hey, man. Come on in.”

He backs up and allows Jackson Wang to spring inside. Like Yibo, he’s still wearing the clothes he wore during the cypher battle. The pink sweater is still darkened around the shoulders from sweat, but then, so is the T-shirt Yibo is wearing.

“What’s up?”

Jackson’s grin can be measured in megawatts. Yibo hadn’t known him well before the show started up but it was easy to get a feel for him. He’s a prankster and a charmer and his playful grins give Yibo plenty to smile about. Outgoing people like Jackson make life easier for Yibo, not that he’s been struggling with being talkative while doing something he loves so much, but people like Jackson ease the small conversations that occur between the big ones, which is where Yibo has always struggled.

“Is it okay that I came by?” Jackson asks. 

“Of course. Of course.” Yibo hastily backs up to the kitchenette so Jackson won’t be standing near the door. They’re both thin, so they don’t take up much space, but Jackson’s personality is large and his presence seems to fill the trailer.

“What a night, huh?” Jackson gushes, his eyes bright.

“So much fun,” Yibo says with passion. “It felt like the old days for me but better. My favorite night in a long time.”

“Me, too, man. It was obscene. Yixing!” Jackson exclaims, throwing both arms up for emphasis. “Where did that come from? Did you know he could do that?”

Yibo shakes his head. “I didn’t know he’s been studying krump. He was so good. So good.” He places his palms together in front of him. “You were great, too. Really strong.”

Jackson waves off the compliment. “I could’ve done better. But it was my first set of battles, so now that I know what the judges want—you’d better watch out. Team Wang is going to explode.”

Yibo grins and nods, caught up in Jackson’s enthusiasm.

“It’s hard to sleep after all that,” Jackson admits as he rolls his shoulders. “You mind if I—”

He doesn’t finish, just grabs the hem of his pink sweatshirt and pulls it off over his head. The lean musculature he revealed in the battle ring is on display again and Yibo tries not to stare at the striations in his shoulder muscles. Jackson tosses the sweater into the banquette behind Yibo. It’s slightly presumptuous of him, but Yibo and he aren’t strangers and he doesn’t take offense. He understands it to mean that Jackson intends to stay a while.

Yibo motions toward the booth. “Do you want to—”

“Nah.” Jackson waves off the suggestion. “I’m too wired to sit down, you know? I’m also afraid that the moment I do, I’ll fall asleep on the spot.”

“It’s a long night,” Yibo agrees. He’s doing everything he can to avoid thinking about just how many hours he’s been awake and how few he’ll be allowed to sleep before the brutal cycle of his schedule rolls into motion again.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Jackson laces his fingers together and stretches his arms overhead. He’s as antsy as he claims to be, and Yibo is having trouble concentrating as Jackson leans to one side and then the other, stretching different muscle groups.

“You’d do the same if you had to,” Yibo says magnanimously. “You’re already doing it.”

“Not filming a drama simultaneously. That’s just crazy. But hey, when the world wants you, you have to surrender to it, right?”

His grin is bright and cheery as it has been all night, but Yibo sees something—or hopes he does—in Jackson’s eyes.

“It’s good to be wanted,” Jackson teases.

Yibo fiddles with his shirt. “I guess.”

When Jackson glances over his shoulder at the door as if checking that it’s closed, Yibo takes a deep breath.

“So I was talking to Yixing earlier,” Jackson says as he begins pacing down the narrow hallway to the bedroom and back. He winks at Yibo. “About things.”

“Things,” Yibo repeats, doing his best not to jump to any conclusions.

“Yeah. You know, about the show. The captains.” Jackson’s smile is clearly mischievous now. “Our shared history.”

Yibo’s heartrate, which has been elevated since filming ended, begins to climb. “Shared history?”

“Weibo Night.” Jackson laughs. “I know you haven’t forgotten our epic dance battle in Yixing’s room. Or what happened after.”

Though Yibo has been anticipating this moment with Jackson, now that it’s here, he’s even more nervous than he’d expected to be. He backs up and sits in the end of the banquette and grips his knees.

“What about it?” he asks.

“Any regrets?” Jackson is at the end of the hall but he walks back to halt in front of Yibo. “Regrets about revealing yourself in front of me, I mean.”

 _About having sex with Xiao Zhan in the bathroom while you listened, you mean,_ Yibo thinks.

He looks up at Jackson as calmly as he can. “I’m fine with it. Why? Were you bothered by that night?”

“You’ve talked with Yixing, Yibo. You know he and I have been together.”

“Yeah.” Yibo wets his lips. “He told me.” _He made me cum by talking about you, but you don’t need to know that._

All thoughts flee from his head when Jackson abruptly slides his fingers into Yibo’s hair. Yibo sits perfectly still as Jackson fiddles with the ornaments in his hair. His palm settles against Yibo’s cheek.

“You were sexy out there tonight,” Jackson says quietly.

He’s not smiling, but his eyes are. They also hold a challenge. Since Yibo has responded to every one of them tonight, it doesn’t cross his mind to turn down this one.

“So were you,” he says, just as quietly.

“I know.” Jackson flashes his familiar grin again, but it’s fleeting. He goes back to intently studying Yibo and playing with his hair. “But you surprised me tonight. Everyone’s always mentioned that you were a street dancer. I didn’t really get what that meant until tonight.” Yibo closes his eyes as the fingers in his hair tighten. “I get it now, and I think it’s hot.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to push this forward, but he’s counting on Jackson with his over-sized personality to take the wheel.

“What do you think, Yibo?”

He opens his eyes again. “About what?”

“About having some fun with me.” Jackson has cheekbones for days. They stand out sharply as he grins again. “I liked what I saw tonight. I’m thinking you liked what you saw of me, too.”

Yibo tries to nod, but Jackson has a firm grip of his hair. “I liked what I saw, yeah.” Yibo’s been talkative all night, aggressive and confident, but little of that Yibo is here in the trailer with Jackson.

“Stand up.”

Yibo obeys with a quick, involuntary glance down the hallway to the bedroom. That’s not on the agenda yet. He’s surprised only for a second when Jackson crashes into him, making Yibo bang his ass into the edge of the kitchenette table.

Jackson is shorter, but he drags Yibo down by the front of his shirt. Never one to resist handling by a guy, Yibo goes with it, groaning against the lips that attack his. He curls his hands around Jackson’s hips, jerking their groins flush. He finds exactly what he expects to, urgent and throbbing, and it makes him groan again with excitement.

Jackson rolls his hips into him like the dancer he is. Yibo rises to the challenge. He spreads his legs and thrusts back so their cocks slide together in a filthy grinding motion. The thin material of their loose pants is like nothing at all. Yibo’s sure he can feel every vein and ridge in Jackson’s big dick, which is just as thick as Yixing promised him. It’s something that would bring a big stretch and maybe a hurt a little and that’s…yeah, that’s something he wants. That’s something he _needs._

“Been waiting to get on you all night, Yibo,” Jackson says against his lips, which feel swollen and bruised already.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait any longer,” Yibo gasps against his mouth before Jackson smothers him again, kissing him so hard he forces Yibo’s head to bend back on his neck. 

Yibo gets it. It’s a dominance thing, a different sort of battle between them. Jackson lost every round to him. Clearly he’s after some of his own. That’s fine with Yibo. He sinks beneath Jackson’s weight. As he’d hoped, Jackson follows him down, forcing him onto his back on the short table. His legs hang off the edge, the tips of his sneakers barely scraping the carpet.

“I learned a lot about you from that night,” Jackson says against Yibo’s throat, which is arched while he gasps at the window above his head. Jackson’s hands are on his chest, massaging his pecs, squeezing them to try to form tits. He pinches Yibo’s nipples between his fingers. “You like to take it, don’t you, Yibo?”

Yibo squeezes his eyes shut.

“You like to give in and _take_ it.” Jackson punctuates the word with a violent hip thrust.

“Ah, fuck,” Yibo moans. The way his hips are pressed into the edge of the table crushes his cock against Jackson’s groin. He swivels his ass on the table, grinding his cock in a circle against Jackson’s. It’s like rolling two metal pipes together.

“Xiao Zhan fucked you twice.” Jackson closes his teeth around Yibo’s Adam’s apple. “I listened to every second of it.”

Yibo would be blushing but all the blood in his body has migrated south into his dick. “That’s in the past.”

“He was pretty jealous that night.”

Yibo doesn’t want to think about Xiao Zhan. He has Jackson Wang atop him. That’s not something to take for granted. Yibo reaches up and places his thumbs beneath Jackson’s jaw to tip his head up so their eyes can meet. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Jackson smirks. “You don’t want to talk about how horny you made me and Yixing? The fucking sounds you made, Yibo…fuck, they get me going just remembering.”

Yibo wants to squirm, which he assumes is Jackson’s intention. The sex between him and Xiao Zhan that night had been rougher than usual, or at least more about Xiao Zhan being in charge and staking his claim. Yibo recalls quite clearly all the things Xiao Zhan had made him do. Learning that Jackson had heard everything fills his body with roiling heat and makes him want to throw his legs wide and beg Jackson to get on with it and drill him.

“He made you cum so hard,” Jackson goes on. “I think he was trying to impress us.”

Yibo can’t stand it anymore. He brings his legs up and snaps them around Jackson’s hips. “Impress me more. Or are you prepared to lose again?”

Jackson’s shock swiftly morphs into a look of such intensity that Yibo has to close his eyes to bear it. He arches up with a gasp when Jackson grabs him between the legs and squeezes him at the root, leaving his sensitive tip free to rub teasingly against the fabric of his pants.

“I’ve been staring at this huge thing flopping around all night,” Jackson growls at him. “Nearly put my eye out.” 

“Why do you think I did so many hip thrusts?” Yibo counters as he dares to open his eyes again.

Jackson grins before licking his lips. “I want to suck it.” His eyes move hungrily over Yibo’s face. “And I’m going to fuck you. Tell me right now if you have a problem with that.”

Yibo’s brain is all sparkles. “No. No problem, Jiaer-ge.”

Jackson backs up and palms himself. The bulge in his pants is huge, but so is the one in Yibo’s pants. Yibo rises onto his elbows to watch as Jackson yanks the drawstring loose on Yibo’s pants before tugging them down. He has to lift up a little to allow the garment to clear his hips, but soon enough Jackson has stripped it down his legs, carrying Yibo’s shoes with it. Having his cock rising up between them like a flagpole makes Yibo feel sexy. He hastily rips off his shirt, too, dropping it atop Jackson’s sweatshirt.

“You’re as pale as an egg,” Jackson notes as he steps out of his own pants and flings off his tank top. “No wonder they go crazy.” 

He slides his palms firmly up Yibo’s thighs, pushing his legs wide apart so they barely cling to the edges of the narrow table. It’s uncomfortable with the edges digging into his thighs, so as soon as Jackson draws near, Yibo lifts his legs and hooks his hands behind his knees, shamelessly exposing himself.

Jackson’s eyebrows rise. “Wow. If only the judges could see you now!”

“I’d win again,” Yibo taunts.

Jackson gives him a narrow-eyed look. “Be careful. I’m about to put my teeth around your favorite body part.”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses all around the backs of Yibo’s thighs, trailing down and inward toward the center of his body, so that Yibo begins to pant in anticipation, his hole fluttering. Jackson is a tease, though, placing kisses along the delicate skin where Yibo’s inner thighs meet his groin but going no closer to his pucker. He only blows across it, making Yibo’s lower body twitch and his balls tighten up. Jackson chuckles and does it again while he helps to hold Yibo’s legs back. Yibo clenches around nothing as the sensitive skin of his hole reacts to the rush of air.

“Maybe later,” Jackson promises in a low voice. A groan rises up Yibo’s chest.

“Why not now?” he pants.

“Because I said so.” 

The next kiss is placed on one of his balls, followed by a long, wet lick.

“God,” Yibo whispers to the window as Jackson begins to lap at him. Jackson licks like a kitten, little strokes that tickle as much as enflame him. Yibo can’t help trying to lift his hips up to encourage bolder, broader strokes of Jackson’s tongue.

“I was the better dancer tonight, wasn’t I, Yibo?”

He nearly doesn’t hear the whisper, and even then, he’s not sure he heard correctly. “What?”

“I was the better dancer,” Jackson repeats more clearly. He drags his tongue up the seam of Yibo’s scrotum. “Say it.”

Yibo frowns and looks between his legs at Jackson. “What happens if I do?”

“You get this.” The flat of his tongue swipes across Yibo’s pucker.

“Ah!” Yibo yanks his knees to his shoulders, offering himself completely.

Jackson doesn’t give in to the temptation, though. “Gotta say it first.”

Yibo drops his head back, biting his bottom lip furiously. “Can’t you just—”

“Say it.”

The authority in Jackson’s voice is a lash across Yibo’s stomach, making his body want to jackknife and shove his ass into Jackson’s face. But he can tell that Jackson won’t give him what he wants unless he’s obedient. Yibo normally is very obedient. But this is different.

“I beat you every round,” Yibo says, even as he mentally calls himself an idiot.

“According to people who don’t matter. I’m talking about between you and me, Yibo. Say it.”

He chews on his bottom lip. He digs his fingernails into the backs of his thighs. Jackson resumes licking all around his balls and occasionally blowing across them. All Yibo can think about is how much better all of that attention would feel if it happened lower.

“Tell me I’m the better dancer,” Jackson repeats softly. He blows directly at Yibo’s pucker. “You can do it, didi.”

“I—can’t.” Yibo groans at his own stubbornness, but dancing is his identity. He can’t lie about it, not even for something he wants very, very badly.

Jackson lifts his head. “You’re going to fight me on this?” He’s in disbelief, his eyes round. Then he smirks handsomely. “Ah. Or are you making me force you, hmm?” He taps his temple with a finger. “I do know a bit about you, after all.”

What was previously sexy—Jackson being aware of his preferences—has just become a liability, Yibo realizes, though without any dread to speak of. It’s difficult to feel negative about any of this.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Jackson lowers his head between Yibo’s legs again. This time he’s so close that Yibo can feel the heat of his skin against his ass cheeks. He tenses as a pillowy soft kiss is placed directly against his entrance.

“Mmmf,” Yibo says behind his tightly clenched lips.

“What was that?” Jackson whispers, his exhalations curling like fingers against Yibo’s hole. “Something you wanted to say?”

Yibo shakes his head and digs his fingers harder into the backs of his thighs to distract himself from the soft breath caressing him. He groans when Jackson exhales hotly over him, the mist from his breath settling gently on his sensitive tissues.

“Come on, Yibo…”

Thumbs brush along the edges of his rim before they gently press down and begin to spread him. Yibo’s heart is about to pound out of his chest. His cock twitches continuously. _Please, please,_ he thinks.

Jackson’s breath curls into him again. The very tip of his tongue drags along the thin rim of his opening, making Yibo’s entire body quiver. Just a few centimeters to the side and Jackson could be licking into him—but no, the tongue continues its tortuous circular path along his rim, leaving his center untouched. Around and around and—

“You’re good at urban!” Yibo finally cries out.

Jackson laughs in a low voice. His thumbs pull him wider, then relax, letting him close again. “Not good enough.”

When he touches the tip of his nose to Yibo’s perineum and nuzzles him, Yibo gasps, “Hip-hop! I mean it. You’re really good. Powerful.”

“Damnit, Yibo.” Jackson’s laugh is more of a groan.

“Please, Jiaer-ge.” Yibo whines. “Locking, krump, popping—I just can’t.”

Jackson sighs—against him, much to Yibo’s frustration. “Alright. Alright. You’re right. I don’t know how to do those yet. But I will soon!”

“Yes, yes,” Yibo agrees frantically. “And then you might be the best.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Jackson laughs. “Well, you’d better not be, considering what I’m about to do.”

When he touches his tongue to Yibo’s pucker, Yibo hisses and bites his lips again. His entire body shakes as he holds himself open so Jackson can explore the contours of his hole. As Yibo breathes shallowly, Jackson adds his forefinger, rubbing it in little spirals around him before gently pushing against the furled opening. Yibo wills himself to relax. When Jackson manages to breach him the first time, he whimpers.

“I’d like to see you do the flips I do,” Jackson says before fluttering his tongue against Yibo’s rim while easing his finger in and out.

“I can’t,” Yibo gasps, barely able to hold onto the thread of the conversation.

“I know. I’m still better than you at things.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Another quiet chuckle comes from Jackson before he digs in with a groan, smashing his face in between Yibo’s cheeks and slapping his tongue wetly against Yibo’s pucker. He alternates between tongue and finger, thrusting in and out with each. He bites and sucks and easily overcomes the natural resistance of Yibo’s body. In no time he’s fucking Yibo with his tongue and all Yibo can think about is Jackson’s big dick doing the work instead.

“Fuck!” he chokes out. “Jiaer-ge, please—I need you to fuck me. I need it now. You can suck me after. Please, Jiaer-ge!”

“You sound just like you did back then,” Jackson says and smacks his lips loudly. “Okay, I’ll take mercy.” He grimaces as he strokes himself. “Also, I’m fucking dying here. Your ass is too much.” He slaps Yibo’s right cheek hard for emphasis.

Yibo moans without shame and moans again when Jackson spanks him on the other cheek.

“Damn, if I didn’t have a flight we could try some things,” Jackson says, almost to himself.

“Next time.” Yibo sits up, prompting Jackson to back up. Yibo nimbly flips himself over and shifts around so that his chest is flat on the table and his feet rest on the floor. He looks back over one shoulder to catch Jackson staring at his pinkened ass. “Come on. Fuck me like you promised. The way Yixing-ge says you can.”

That lights up Jackson’s handsome face. “Yeah?” he says as he palms his heavy cock. “What’d he say?”

“That you’re like a bull.”

Jackson grins at that. “He would know, yeah. Hey, you got stuff?”

Yibo points down the hall to the bedroom. “In the left cabinet by the bed.”

As Jackson goes, Yibo spreads his legs and tucks his forearms beneath him so he can easily grip the edge of the short table with his hands. Jackson doesn’t take long to find the lube and condoms and is already wearing one and slicking himself up as he walks back. He’s an image to make Yibo’s mouth water. Jackson isn’t bulky, but he’s got muscles that Yibo envies. With his handsome face and hair that seems perfectly coiffed even after hours of hard dancing, Jackson is the mature version of himself that Yibo hopes to one day achieve. For now, he’s an ideal gege for fucking.

Yibo drops his head as Jackson runs his palm up his spine to the back of his neck. The hold he takes there is firm and speaks of control. Yibo can already feel himself melting into the Formica.

“How often has Yixing fucked you?” Jackson asks as he slides his lubed middle finger into him.

Yibo wants to arch, but Jackson’s hold on the nape of his neck keeps him pinned in place. “God—I don’t know. Three…maybe four times? I don’t keep track.”

“I knew you got around,” Jackson says. He sounds smug. “You looked like an innocent school kid at Weibo Night, but I changed my mind after what happened later. I bet all the geges want a piece of this.”

He curls his finger and Yibo shudders violently. “Some do.”

“Everywhere I walk through the set here, I hear dancers talking about how handsome Wang Yibo is.” Jackson’s tone is conversational despite the fact he has pushed another finger into Yibo and is slowly fucking him with them. “It’s a little tiring, you know? I prefer hearing about how handsome _I_ am.”

“You are,” Yibo pants, his eyes rolling back at the welcome, familiar feeling of being stretched. Maybe he’s got an addiction, because he can’t get enough of being underneath a guy and opened on his fingers.

“Oh, I know I’m handsome,” Jackson says airily. “I’d just prefer to hear it more often than I hear about _you_ being handsome. Dancing isn’t the only competition here.”

Yibo would be concerned that Jackson is serious except that the hand around the back of his neck occasionally massages him when he begins to tense up. There’s no aggression here besides the healthy, sexual kind.

“Guess I’ll have to win my own way,” Jackson concludes with a grin in his voice. 

He hasn’t stretched Yibo enough but he places the head of his cock against Yibo’s rim anyway and leans over him to murmur into his ear, “I remember that you like it a little rough.”

Yibo’s hot all over so he has no idea if he’s blushing. “Do it,” he urges. “Come on, ge.”

Jackson holds his neck tight as he pushes in. It’s a big stretch, just as Yibo anticipated. He has to remind himself not to hold his breath as his body struggles to relax around the huge intrusion. Jackson being the overall size he is shouldn’t possess such a big cock, but Yibo’s not complaining even if he’s wincing a little. The burn feels good, like difficult steps in a dance that lead to the song’s climax. When Jackson’s cockhead finally pops through his ring, Yibo’s breath rushes out of him like he’s reached the breathing point of a routine.

“Tight,” Jackson grits against the back of Yibo’s head. “Are you okay?”

“Give me a second.”

He feels Jackson nod, then feels Jackson’s lips high on his cheek, not really kissing him but brushing back and forth soothingly.

“Relax,” Jackson whispers while Yibo’s muscles spasm. “Relax for me. You can do it.”

Yibo knows he can, he just questions why his body isn’t cooperating. He’s tense all over, clenching tight around Jackson’s cock as though he’ll never get used to it.

Jackson slides his free hand to Yibo’s hip and strokes his upper thigh. “Relax, Yibo. Come on, didi. Just a little stretch. You can take it. I know you can.”

Yibo nods, blinking back sweat. He wants this. He wants it so bad. Jackson is sexy and alpha and it’s a head rush knowing that he’s a little ticked off at Yibo for beating him in the dance competitions. It’s from thirst alone that Yibo manages to convince his muscles to let go. Jackson feels it and pulls back a little, then pushes back in. He repeats the small movements, taking advantage of the gradual loosening of Yibo’s muscles to slowly, inevitably fill Yibo with his cock.

At last his hips come up flush against Yibo’s ass and they both sigh with relief.

“You made me work for it,” Jackson accuses, but he’s breathy, obviously as turned on as Yibo is. “I’m gonna make you pay for that.”

His hands tighten on Yibo’s hip and nape while he pulls back. He drives in hard, punching the air from Yibo’s lungs. Jackson does it again, and it’s no less powerful. Soon he’s slamming Yibo into the table with only the hand pinning his neck keeping Yibo from shooting off the table and into the banquette.

Yibo makes squeaky little noises with each thrust. He doesn’t have the breath to groan. He feels like a sex toy that Jackson is using for his pleasure and it’s awesome. When he tries to rise up a little on his forearms Jackson forces him back down with the grip on the back of his neck. It makes Yibo feel like a lion cub and he loves that. He loves being the young one. He’ll always be the young one…

He doesn’t notice the hand on his hip has moved until it curls around his throat. He raises his head, startled, but as soon as Jackson tightens his palm around him he sinks into it, his voice rising.

“You like that?” Jackson pants from over his shoulder. He’s pounding into Yibo like he wants to hurt him, except he has very carefully angled himself to stroke over Yibo’s prostate with every other thrust. Jackson knows exactly what he’s doing, and he proves it as he applies pressure to Yibo’s throat. “With this neck, I think you were made to be choked,” he rasps into Yibo’s ear.

Heat flushes over Yibo’s face. He whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. Jackson’s cock is a heavy drag within his channel. The fat head pulls at his rim and rearranges his insides. Being fucked by Jackson is all-consuming and the tingling pressure from it builds in Yibo’s ass and ripples up to his cock and balls like a lit fuse on a bomb that’s about to explode. It’s intense. It’s powerful. Yibo’s ears are beginning to ring from it and from the hold that Jackson has on his throat.

Jackson restricts Yibo’s airflow just enough to make it clear that he has the power to do more. He doesn’t need to do more, though. It’s enough that he’s holding Yibo with such a domineering, possessive grip. There’s no question in either of their minds who’s in control of this and who’s taking it. Yibo takes it—over and over, the tingling growing stronger and stronger. His feet kick off the floor. He arches his back despite the hold Jackson has around his neck. He’s nearly there—nearly there—

Jackson rams into Yibo one more time and then shudders repeatedly as though he’s performing Vibration. Beneath him, panicking as he realizes what’s happening, Yibo tries to hump the table or shove his hand beneath him—anything to get that final bit of friction—

He yelps when Jackson abruptly pulls out of him, leaving him gaping. Jackson flips him over as though he weighs nothing. His back slips across the tabletop which is slick with sweat and precum, but Jackson grabs him by the hips and drags him back into place so he can swoop down and swallow Yibo’s swollen cock.

Yibo shouts. Both hands fly to the back of Jackson’s head, pushing him down while Yibo humps up. Jackson takes him easily down his throat and it’s so damn sexy that tears come to Yibo’s eyes. When Yibo cums, it’s with a strangled gurgle, his entire body locking tight as though he’s seized. He’s on the dance floor again and they’re all cheering and he’s so high—

Seconds or minutes pass. Yibo isn’t aware of anything that happens during them. When he comes to, he’s sitting upright in the end of the banquette with Jackson standing over him, both hands on Yibo’s shoulders to keep him from falling over.

“You okay?” Jackson says as soon as Yibo’s eyes open. Jackson is still naked. He’s disposed of the condom at some point while Yibo was out. “I thought I killed you with my awesome sex skills.”

Yibo snorts and palms his face. He’s completely, utterly exhausted, as though four days’ worth of work has caught up with him all at once. “Not even close,” he mutters.

“You were unconscious, Yibo. It was pretty close.”

Now that Yibo seems somewhat coherent, Jackson lets him go and begins dressing.

“Gah, I need a shower so bad,” he complains as he drags everything back on. “I don’t think I have ever been sweatier in my life.”

“Me, neither,” Yibo mumbles. He’s sticky and sore and he has the feeling he’s going to need to take his shower while sitting down so he doesn’t accidentally crack his head open.

Dressed now, and looking like he just emerged from another dance battle, Jackson looks Yibo over. He laughs at what he sees.

“Yeah, I think I proved my point,” he says before ruffling Yibo’s sweaty hair and turning to the door. “See you in a rematch, didi.”

Yibo hopes he says something suitably challenging in return. His brain is mush. Maybe he should call Yanyan and ask him what day it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you. Can I ask you a favor? If you've enjoyed this story, I'd appreciate it if you shared it with friends on twitter and whatnot. I'd like to grow the Yibo/geges agenda because Yibo deserves it! Anyway, if you want to. Thanks for reading no matter what!


	14. Team Wave of King Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was re-reading some stuff and watching videos of Yibo's battles and it struck me how much he's bonded with his team. During practices he was one of them, not like a guy telling everyone what to do, and during the battles they all seemed so happy, like they were one big family already. So I wanted to write a little about that, even though this is premature with the competition only just beginning. We don't even officially know who's on the teams at the time of me writing this (I'm only guessing here), but I've got a hunch on who are the 'keepers'. Edit: As soon as I posted this chapter, Youku spoiled the team during the hotpot episode so I'm editing as necessary. So this is me just exploring some feelings.
> 
> tags for this chapter: group adoration, SPOILERS for team members, rated T

Dianmen isn’t the guy who’s going to lose control at a party. He’ll have a drink or two with his friends, but the days of blackout binge drinking are behind him.

He’s pretty much sober when the shots break out. He turns down the one that’s offered to him and doesn’t judge the dancers on Team Wave of King Bombs who do take a shot. Even Yibo takes one, after all. They’re letting loose after filming a tough battle episode. It’s been a lot of blood, sweat, and tears up to this point and it’s all paid off. It’s time to reward themselves with booze and laughter.

The television in Yibo’s suite is on and Li Shuai has hooked his laptop to the screen to make it play Yibo’s music videos. They’re clowning him, which Yibo takes in stride. He’s been glowing all night, his skin like alabaster that’s lit from within. Dianmen isn’t gay, and he doesn’t think the majority of the dancers on their team are, either, but he isn’t the only one who steals frequent glances at Yibo. A truly good-looking person is rare out in the wild. They can’t help wanting to fill their eyes with him because they may never get another chance.

“Time for some artsy stuff,” Li Shuai declares before stumbling over to it and clicking through video files.

“Not The Untamed,” Yibo says immediately and everyone laughs. 

Laughter and smiles come easily to this team, Dianmen is proud to note. That attitude comes directly from their captain. Yibo’s love for what they’re doing amplifies his dancers’ love for it, too. Dianmen is beyond grateful to have been chosen by him. He’s danced for most of his life, but he’s never enjoyed dancing more than in these months.

He’s sitting on the hotel’s sofa with Taotao. Yibo stands within a small cluster of the other dancers who have gravitated around him in a loose semi-circle. Subconsciously—or maybe not so subconsciously, Dianmen muses—the dancers like to be near Yibo. Dianmen has never been this close to an idol before. It’s like standing beside a celestial star. There’s an otherworldliness to Yibo as though he’s not a human like the rest of them. It’s his good looks, but also his aura. It quietly commands your attention. He doesn’t need to move a muscle and yet all eyes want to cling to him.

This time, all eyes jump to the screen when Li Shuai triumphantly announces, “This! This is the shit.”

At first, Dianmen thinks the guy has brought up a moody ancient Chinese drama. But almost immediately he recognizes Yibo on the screen. He’s dressed in traditional costume and is holding a fan. Extensions lengthen his hair, softening his look and making him appear to have a ponytail. And his face—

Conversation in the room dies out as though everyone is suddenly interested in hearing the low music that accompanies the video.

“What is this?” Dianmen asks, shooting a questioning look at Yibo.

Yibo watches himself without expression. “The photoshoot for the Fantasy Westward Journey video game.”

Dianmen is doubtful. What they’re watching doesn’t look like a photoshoot for a video game. It looks like a promotional video for a courtesan if courtesans used videos to entice clients. It’s entrancing. Yibo’s expression on the screen is shockingly seductive. When Yibo widens his eyes as though devouring whoever he is looking at, Dianmen swallows hard. When Yibo lowers his chin and looks up from beneath his lashes, one of the dancers clears his throat. When Yibo peeks teasingly from behind the fan, Dianmen senses the sudden spike of testosterone in the room.

It’s more than testosterone. It’s lust, hanging thick and heavy in the air like someone went overboard with the cologne. The playful, relaxed atmosphere of just a few moments ago has evaporated. Dianmen doesn’t know what to think of the change in mood until NoName acts.

“Fuck it,” he says quietly, but since no one is talking and the video music is quiet, everyone hears him. 

He sets his beer bottle on one of the numerous small tables scattered around the suite and walks directly up to Yibo. Everyone is watching, everyone holding their breaths. Dianmen isn’t sure he’ll ever breathe again as he watches the breakdancer reach up and take hold of Yibo’s chin.

Someone squeaks like a squirrel. Someone else says, “Holy shit.”

None of them have dared to touch Yibo. Not beyond back slaps and congratulatory high-fives and other such bro-approved contact. There was groping during their second 3v3 battle, but it was for the performance (though Dianmen can admit to some jealousy at not being one of the two dancers who got to feel Yibo up. He’s a famous idol. You’re _supposed_ to want to touch him, he rationalizes.)

The fact that Yibo is continuously accompanied by bodyguards reinforces the idea that he’s out of reach. It just seems right that you need to be filthy rich or gorgeous or powerful to even think about touching him. So what’s happening now is inconceivable. A mere street dancer is daring to hold Yibo by the chin.

Dianmen can’t tear his eyes from Yibo’s face. It’s achingly beautiful in its lack of expression. He’s a doll. He’s definitely a model. But knowing that Yibo is more of a kid than any of them leaves Dianmen with tangled sentiments. He’s concerned for Yibo, can’t help feeling protective of him—and yet Yibo is troublingly handsome with the body of a grown man…

Yibo doesn’t pull out of NoName's hold. The seconds tick down as the two men stare at each other. Dianmen doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Or rather, he’s afraid to believe it’s what he thinks it is.

“How about it, Captain?” NoName asks, breaking the silence. Dianmen admires how steady his voice is. If it were him (oh, man if it were him) he’d be a stuttering fool.

“Am I supposed to give you an invitation?” Yibo asks with raised eyebrows.

A stinky shoe couldn’t have knocked them all flatter.

NoName catches Yibo behind the neck with his other hand. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he says, before he drags Yibo in against his mouth. 

Dianmen's eyes bulge and he hears minor pandemonium break out among the other dancers. He can’t look at any of them because he’s riveted to the scene with NoName and Yibo. He’s shocked and turned-on and feeling guilty about it and he doesn’t want it to end.

NoName doesn’t kiss him for long, and yet it seems like an eternity before he lifts his head, looking a little dazed. Yibo, mouth wet, looks down at him and smiles that boyish smile of his and that seems to be some sort of cue for the others.

Xiao Ji jumps to his feet and boldly strides up to push the other breakdancer out of the way. Yibo grins when Xiao Ji cups his face between both hands. He sets his own hands on Xiao Ji’s hips as the bald dancer angles Yibo’s face toward him. Dianmen groans beneath his breath, embarrassed and aroused, as Xiao Ji kisses Yibo like he’s been dying to his entire life. Dianmen sees Yibo’s fingers straighten out a couple of times as though he’s startled or isn’t prepared for such a deep kiss, but Xiao Ji doesn’t relent and it makes the temperature in the suite climb a handful of degrees higher.

“What is going on?” Yang Kai asks, eyes wide. 

Dianmen doesn’t know what to tell him—they’re starting up an orgy? They’re getting to know their captain better? They’ve lost their collective minds?—but instinctively he looks to Bouboo, and he’s not the only one who does so.

Bouboo is Yibo’s favorite dancer. Everyone knows this and they also know that Yibo’s hero worship is returned in the form of Bouboo’s affection and respect. The French dancer is openly fond of Yibo and appreciates Yibo’s eagerness to dance and learn from them. As a teacher, maybe he sees Yibo as a potential protege. The large age difference between them reinforces that sort of relationship. Or maybe it’s something simpler. Maybe, like the rest of them, he’s become smitten with their young captain’s exhuberance.

Whatever the reason for Bouboo’s connection to Yibo, it’s a strong one, so several dancers look to Bouboo for reaction to what’s going on. Bouboo has been standing in a corner with Tang Gan, but when attention swings to him, Bouboo steps forward, accepting that he’s meant to be the arbiter in this situation.

He walks slowly over to where Xiao Ji is still kissing Yibo and places a hand on the dancer’s shoulder to get his attention. Xiao Ji lifts his head just enough to mutter, “Don’t say so much,” before diving back into the kiss.

Everyone laughs, breaking the tension.

Xiao Ji doesn’t take much longer, as if realizing he’s been hoarding Yibo. When he finally lifts his head and allows Yibo to gasp for air, Xiao Ji smirks as if at a job well done before adopting his playful, above-it-all attitude and strutting out of the way. 

Left alone, Yibo opens his eyes. He sees Bouboo standing before him and he visibly melts.

“Bouboo,” he murmurs softly in that way of his. It's a greeting. It's a confession of love. Dianmen wonders how can anyone resist that tone.

Bouboo can’t. His smile is soft. “Yibo,” he says in his accented voice. “Is it okay?”

Yibo seems to understand the deeper meaning behind the question. He looks around him for the first time since they began, noticing his audience, but he doesn’t blush. He smiles a little bashfully as he meets his dancers’ eyes. Dianmen feels as though he’s been blessed when Yibo’s gaze touches his. It’s like a touch to the cheek, beckoning him forward.

“It’s okay,” Yibo says, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I love my team.”

Bouboo nods, ruffles Yibo’s short hair. Then his long-fingered hands engulf Yibo’s small face. Yibo resembles a child in Bouboo’s grasp. His shining eyes slide close when Bouboo inclines his head. When they kiss it’s sweetly, not like the kisses that came before. Dianmen doesn’t sense any lust between the two men and it’s what prompts him to rise to his feet. He sees from the corner of his eyes that he’s not the only one who’s similarly affected.

They don’t form a line, but there’s an unspoken understanding that they’re all waiting their turn with Yibo. They kiss him one by one, some with quick pecks of camaraderie, others with long, sensual kisses that reveal their attraction to him. Yibo doesn’t shy from either and doesn’t treat either kiss differently. Though he may take a little longer to come to his senses after the sensual kisses, his smile and the eye contact he makes with each dancer holds the same amount of affection and pride and friendship. For Yibo, it’s apparent that connection is connection, however a dancer chooses to make it with him.

DaTing doesn’t hesitate to step up to Yibo, too. He smiles a little shyly at her and she laughs and gives him a peck on the cheek, which he cups with his hand and accepts with a lingering look of thanks. Dianmen doubts that DaTing, a powerful dancer, blushes over any guy, yet she does so over Yibo. He has that power. He makes even some guys blush.

Dianmen hopes he’s not one of them. By the time it’s his turn, he’s nervous and eager and sort of wishes he could skip it and just give Yibo a hug. But then he’s standing directly in front of Yibo, staring into his small face with its delicate features and laughing eyes and something rises in Dianmen's chest that’s purely wonderful. He hadn’t planned on touching Yibo except by the lips, but it suddenly feels right to cup him by his rounded cheeks as though he’s cradling something precious. He closes his eyes and touches his lips to Yibo’s. It’s like kissing a girl, all soft and moist and yielding and Dianmen has to rein himself in before he tries to deepen it. That’s not the connection he needs to make with Yibo. This chaste one is, in which he uses his kiss to promise to do his best to win the championship for him.

This whole thing is a pledge of fealty, Dianmen realizes in that moment. All the dancers here have pledged their effort to Yibo, while some have pledged friendship and others sexual availability if he desires it. Never has Dianmen been a member of a group which shares such loyalty and a need to please its leader. It’s because it’s Yibo, who’s more attractive than all of them, richer than them, more famous, and yet weirdly more vulnerable. None of them wants to see him disappointed or unhappy. They’ve figured out that Yibo is one of them, should have been all along, and that this is his only chance to show it. Winning isn’t so much for them, as it is for him.

The kiss ends, but Yibo isn’t the only who’s left feeling slightly dazed as Dianmen walks away. He resumes his seat on the sofa as though he’s moving through a dream. He hopes he never forgets the tingle in his lips. 

Taotao pats his knee and gives him a sympathetic smile. Taotao, though happily married, kissed Yibo, too, and his affection came through to everyone in the room. No one could ever accuse him of cheating. It’s Yibo. Everyone is allowed to love him in their way.

They’re going to win. Dianmen feels it in his heart like a prophecy. And when it happens, it will be one of the greatest feelings in his life thanks to one young, over-excitable idol—no, _dancer_ —named Wang Yibo. He is the King, and they are his Wave of King Bombs.

When the time comes, they will explode.


	15. Yanyan & Lele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the ubiquitous bodyguards. These guys are great for Yibo. Like everyone, I fell in love with Yanyan for that photo of him recording Yibo doing a skateboarding trick. I'm glad these guys are in his life.
> 
> tags for this chapter: mild hurt/comfort, rated G

“He’s so quiet,” one of the production staff murmured.

“Everyone always says that, but I didn’t think he’d be mute,” another woman said, her voice barely audible above the music that played from a small set of speakers beside the shooting platform.

Wang Yanyan, standing with the watching staff and crew, heard her. It was far from the first time he’d overheard such comments about his charge, Wang Yibo. Yibo was who he was, reserved with strangers. But it annoyed Yanyan tonight because Yibo’s reticence was caused by more than his introverted personality. He was completely, utterly exhausted.

Yanyan rolled his shoulders, trying to work out his own weariness which had clawed its way into his muscles and bones over the past forty-eight hours. He felt sore, like he’d been playing sports, when in reality he’d only been shuttling Yibo from location to location. Just from being a bodyguard, driver, and an assistant, Yanyan was wrung out. He could tell—and apparently so could the filming crew, though they didn’t fully understand why—that Yibo felt far worse.

Yanyan held back a frown, keeping his expression stoic, as he watched the thin boy in front of the cameras and lights cycle through a series of poses while holding up a bottle of the newest product he’d been booked to endorse. Yanyan had stood by for dozens of such performances. He recognized the poses that Yibo preferred to use and Yanyan could tell by how many of Yibo’s ‘typical’ poses that he used how he was feeling, whether he was energized and inspired or was bored or tired. Tonight, he was sleepwalking through the shoot, not bothering to find new angles, his eyelids low, his smile wan. Yibo would always be professional, but he was only human.

He’d had to be at makeup that morning at four am. For twelve hours after that he’d shot scenes for his latest drama. Yanyan had then driven him to another location for a live interview that had lasted two hours, then they’d come here and were four hours into the shoot with an interview still to follow. Somewhere in the midst all of that, Yibo’s agent and Yanyan had slipped him food and drink.

The photographer said something to Yibo too low for Yanyan to hear. He watched Yibo widen his eyes in an attempt to look more alert. It worked and the camera flashes went off as he ran through more poses, but the energy would run out eventually. Yanyan worried the countdown would be measured in minutes rather than hours.

~~~~~

The flight to Beijing was delayed. It was frustrating, since the flight itself was relatively short, only about two and a half hours from Shanghai. Every minute spent in Hongqiao Airport was time spent away from a proper bed. Yanyan rubbed his smooth head. They could use their beds. Yibo especially.

They were catching the last flight of the night. The waiting area was mostly empty and quiet, a nice change from the norm. Yanyan could breathe easier, which didn’t happen often these days. Even Lele, Yibo’s main bodyguard whose expression never wavered, looked grateful for the reprieve from the usual hordes of fans. The younger man, leaning against a nearby pillar and keeping watch over the dozen or so passengers scattered around the waiting area, caught Yanyan’s eye and nodded.

After a quick check of Yibo, who appeared to be staring into space from beneath his baseball cap, Yanyan walked over to Lele.

“How are you doing?” Yanyan asked him.

Lele nodded. “It’s been a hectic three days. Nearly home, though.”

“For half a day. But you’re right. It’s a holiday.” He looked the bodyguard over. “You didn’t answer my question, though. How are you holding up?” 

Every event that Yibo attended, every show he filmed, Yanyan and Lele were right there with him as though they were stars, too. Granted, they didn’t have to perform, but they still needed to be alert to threats or invasions of Yibo’s privacy. 

“I’m okay,” Lele assured him. “I’ll sleep on the plane. You?”

“Same. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Hangeng’s schedule was never this chaotic. I feel like I’ve aged a half dozen years since September.”

Lele smiled before slanting his small eyes over Yanyan’s shoulder. His smile faded. “And how is he? He’s been awake what, over thirty hours now? I saw him rubbing his eyes on the drive over. And he’s very pale.”

“The kid is running on empty,” Yanyan confirmed as he turned. “I’m hoping he doesn’t become ill.”

They both studied Yibo, who seemed to be swaying where he stood.

“He’s dead on his feet,” Lele warned. “This is brutal.”

“He’ll be the first one to tell you he can handle it.”

“Yeah, but—” Lele inhaled sharply as Yibo’s chin dipped toward his chest. “Yanyan, he’s—”

Yanyan raced across the distance to Yibo’s side. At the sound of his approach, Yibo jerked his head up. But it was only a temporary burst of energy. The boy’s eyes were fluttering, his eyes rolling back. He looked to be on the verge of passing out. 

Yanyan curled an arm around his shoulders. “Yibo, let’s sit down. We’ve got some time.”

Yibo offered no resistance as Yanyan guided him to sit in one of the hard, molded chairs. Though Yanyan usually gave Yibo his space, this time he decided to take the seat beside him. Yanyan hunched over so he could peer beneath the brim of Yibo’s hat. The boy’s eyelashes lay along the smooth curve of his cheeks. Lele was right. Yibo was too pale. Unhealthily so.

“Get some rest,” Yanyan murmured quietly. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to board.”

“Thank you, Yanyan-ge,” Yibo mumbled, his voice muffled by the facemask he wore.

Yanyan nodded, though his charge wouldn’t see it. He wished he could curl an arm around Yibo’s shoulders in support, but that would be inappropriate. Yibo was his boss, not his son or little brother, though often the lines blurred and threatened to disappear altogether.

Yanyan had initially accepted this assignment out of respect for Hangeng. The man had been a good friend for a decade and Yanyan had been happy to repay him by switching over to guarding and assisting this kid who used to dance for Hangeng. It had become immediately apparent that Yibo desperately needed the help. Yanyan had never before experienced the crowds that he did with Yibo. 

Bringing on Lele had been an essential addition, but even so, Yuehua often called in another bodyguard or solicited security from the venues where Yibo performed. Sometimes the police were called in to assist with crowd control. Even with all that help, it didn’t seem enough sometimes. It was alarming to be surrounded by such huge crowds. They felt _hungry_ , and Yanyan was grateful to Hangeng for recognizing the danger that Yibo would face. The boy needed all the protection he could get because his popularity was only going to grow with the number of projects he took on.

As Yanyan ruminated on the crazier confrontations they’d experienced lately with paparazzi and stalkers, he was startled to feel a weight settle against his shoulder. Holding himself still, he turned his head and looked down at the top of Yibo’s baseball cap. The boy had fallen asleep against him. 

Yibo had trained himself to fall asleep in the most uncomfortable of places, but he was extremely cautious. Lele had once remarked that Yibo could make an excellent spy or security officer because his situational awareness was so high. On film sets he spotted paparazzi, fan cameras, and drones before anyone else did. He had a sixth sense about being watched by strangers and he never let down his guard in public. So for him to relax and rest against Yanyan was the ultimate compliment. That or Yibo was just too out of it to protect himself. It was a depressing thought, and Yanyan reluctantly accepted that it was the most likely explanation.

Lele came over twenty minutes later. He observed Yibo’s position leaning against Yanyan without comment, though Yanyan could tell the man would want to talk about it later. For now, they let Yibo sleep.

Yibo’s agent walked up, wearing an expression that told Yanyan something had gone wrong.

“It’s cancelled,” she said stonily. “A mechanical problem of some kind.”

Yanyan bit back a curse. “The next flight—”

“You know there aren’t any. We’re stuck here until the morning.”

“Not here,” Yanyan protested in alarm. 

She glared at him. “It’s not your call to make.”

He bit his tongue and nodded.

“But I’m getting us rooms,” she said in a clipped voice. She began working on her phone. “I’m finding us someplace close. Wake him up. Get him ready. We need to do this quickly before the stalkers learn he’ll be staying overnight. What a shitty situation. Jesus.”

Yanyan nodded, gaze averted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Though Yibo could fall asleep quickly, waking him was difficult. It was understandable since he rarely got more than a few hours of sleep at a time, but it still pained Yanyan to have to do it. 

He eased Yibo off his shoulder and propped him upright before sliding off his own chair to squat in front of Yibo. He patted the boy’s knees. “Yibo. Yibo, time to wake up.”

“Why,” Yibo murmured, eyes still closed. He sounded sulky.

“Flight is cancelled. We’re moving to a hotel. You can get some sleep there.”

The offer of rest paradoxically brought Yibo’s eyes open. “Okay.”

His agent booked rooms in different hotels to throw off stalkers, then Lele and Yanyan herded their charge out of the airport and into a new rental van for the short drive to a nearby hotel. The transition through service entrances went quickly and smoothly without a single fan discovering them. As quickly as could have been possible, Yanyan was sliding the hotel keycard into the lock and opening Yibo’s door.

As always, he entered first, leaving Lele behind to physically guard Yibo in the hallway. Several incidents in the past had educated Yanyan on the creative locations secret cameras could be installed. He searched out every spot he knew and looked in the more obvious hiding spots, too, but didn’t find any mechanical devices that shouldn’t be there. Next, he went to the minibar and checked the seals on the bottled water. Everything looked as it should. Only then did he allow Yibo into the room.

It was a one-bedroom suite. Yibo’s agent had informed them that because of the short notice, she’d booked only two rooms: one for herself and one for Yibo. The bodyguards were expected to stay in the downstairs lobby.

When Yibo heard the plan, however, he’d nixed it.

“They’re not spending the night in the lobby,” he’d said stubbornly.

“They’re only bodyguards,” she’d argued. “The company is not paying—”

“Lele-ge and Yanyan-ge can stay with me. It’s a suite. There’s plenty of room.”

The woman had huffed and said, “Whatever.”

She was the third so-called agent assigned to Yibo since Yanyan had begun protecting him. He hoped she met the fate of her predecessors and was moved out soon. She saw Yibo only as an asset and Yanyan and Lele as peons.

After Yibo shuffled into the bedroom and promptly fell facedown on the mattress, fully clothed, Lele quietly closed the door to give him privacy while Yanyan settled in one of the upholstered chairs in the living room.

Lele grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one to Yanyan before taking a seat in the opposite chair.

“I read that in Hollywood, actors can walk on the streets without protection,” Lele said in a lowered voice after taking a healthy swig of his water.

“Not all of them,” Yanyan said, just as quietly. “But you’re right. It’s different there. The crowds aren’t the same.”

“They don’t push and shove. Not like they do here. I’ve seen videos. I sometimes wish…” Lele trailed off, his gaze going distant. “It would be nice for him to have a break. To walk on the sidewalk alone without being bothered.”

“They all have to endure this lifestyle,” Yanyan reminded him. “The life of an idol—it is how it is. If even one of them is willing to go without sleep or freedom in order to pick up resources, they all have to.”

“He’s just a boy,” Lele murmured. He glanced over at Yanyan, his meaning clear in his eyes.

Yanyan nodded grimly, acknowledging the bodyguard’s dissatisfaction with their client’s life. Yibo was young physically, but he was also young in his heart. Yanyan often wondered how the public saw him—this cocky freestyle dancer who could be boyish with his DDU brothers, spastic and bratty during sports, and then cool and sultry during magazine shoots. Even after spending every day with Yibo, Yanyan still sometimes had difficulty believing what he saw from the boy. He was truly a phenomenal, all-around star.

Throughout all his disparate personalities, both real and fictional, ran a single personality trait that helped Yibo to endure: his understated but indefatigable optimism. Yanyan didn’t think that Yibo woke up each morning with any particular goals in mind except to do his best—and he always believed he would do it. He trusted that things would work out because he’d work his hardest to make sure they did. The itinerary could leak to opponents, his schedule could fall behind because of transportation issues, but Yibo let it all roll off his back. Any setbacks could be overcome. Yibo never expected or accepted failure. Optimism and determination—they were one and the same for him.

It was easy to admire and care a great deal about someone like that. Maybe too easy. _They’re only bodyguards._ While the agent’s statement was true, it didn’t tell the whole story. Yanyan and Lele were willing to place themselves in harm’s way for Yibo not just because it was in their job descriptions. They genuinely liked him. They admired him. It made some of the hardships that Yibo endured—the online slander, the exhaustion that led to illness—especially painful since they could only stand by and watch, unable to help.

“He’ll get a few good hours of sleep tonight,” Yanyan said. “Hopefully that will carry him through the next forty-eight hours.”

“When’s the next time he’ll get a break?”

“Maybe early Tuesday morning?” Yanyan said doubtfully, citing a time two days from then. “If the schedule keeps, he’ll have around four hours to himself.”

Lele shook his head as he stared into the distance. “Sometimes I think it’s a blessing that he’s so young because it makes this easier for him. Other times I think it’s a curse. He could burn himself out before he’s twenty-five. They don’t care about pacing him.”

“He agreed to this,” Yanyan reminded his colleague. “He knows what’s at stake, how far he could rise if he pushes hard right now. Try telling him to slow down. I tried once. He pretended not to hear me.”

Lele laughed softly. “I know. I tried in my own way, too. He treated what I’d said like it was a joke and just smiled. This situation is what it is. He’s willing to do it. All I can do is support him.”

“Would you ever leave?” Yanyan asked casually, looking away to spare the other man the pressure of eye contact. “If an easier offer came along? We’re no longer young, yet we’re sleeping as little as he is.”

“No,” Lele said at once. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this right. And, well, I know you feel the same. He’s ours.”

Yanyan nodded. “He’s ours.”

He and Lele slept not long after, and while a sofa and a rollaway bed weren’t as comfortable as their beds back home, they were better than airplane seats. It wasn’t even as painful as it usually was to wake up to his phone alarm, though Yanyan still yawned while re-dressing. He waited as long as possible before knocking lightly on the bedroom door.

“Yibo,” he called through the wood. “Time to wake up.”

He heard a low groan and the rustle of fabric. “I’m awake.”

“We’ve got thirty-minutes,” Yanyan told him.

Yibo yawned loudly. “Okay. Thanks, Yanyan-ge.”

While Yibo showered and prepped, Yanyan set out the breakfast that he’d pre-ordered from room service the night before. Yibo ate with his eyes mostly closed. Yanyan knew he would have preferred sleeping over eating but Yibo needed to eat and had to be reminded to do so or he’d skip it. 

Yibo was just finishing his juice when his agent came to collect them. She brought bad news: word had gotten out that Yibo was still in Shanghai and catching one of the morning flights. When they arrived at the airport, they discovered that the crowd was even larger than it had been the previous night. Yanyan exchanged a grim look with Lele as foreboding filled him.

Once they parked and Yanyan opened the backdoor for Yibo to exit, the screaming began. Airport security was on hand to hold back the crowd, but not enough had been deployed. Bodies quickly surged forward as Yanyan and Lele hustled their charge to the doors of the terminal.

Normally, the problem of people getting too close arose when the stalkers and paparazzi made it to the forefront of the crowd. Driven by money or obsession, they refused to respect physical boundaries. More than once, Lele had barreled into or shoved them out of the way to allow Yanyan a clear space ahead with Yibo.

Yanyan saw such a situation developing ahead. A bubble of people with professional cameras jutted out in front of them, trying to get photos of Yibo’s face. Lele hurried ahead to push them out of the way while Yanyan enclosed Yibo within the protective half-circle of his arms. Yibo was thin. He was half the width of Yanyan. Yanyan was acutely aware of Yibo’s physical vulnerability as the bodies closed in around them.

Up ahead, Lele and an airport security guard pushed two photographers back. But as they were focused on them, they left a hole on the left—

Since Yibo had begun shooting for Street Dance of China, the number of his male fans had increased. Generally they weren’t the type to show up in the streets. They typically gathered at the shooting site. But Yanyan heard their deeper voices within the collective high shrill of the female fans and a ripple of unease stroked up his spine. Yibo usually didn’t want to be hemmed in while walking, but Yanyan took the initiative to wrap his arms completely around the boy.

Just in time.

A tall, thin body burst through the security hole in the left side of the crowd while Lele and security dealt with the aggressive photographers. Yanyan yanked Yibo with him to the right as the male fan rushed at them. Yanyan thought he’d pulled Yibo to safety until he crashed into fans on the right who’d pressed in too closely. Yanyan tripped over a girl and stumbled, releasing Yibo for a split second. The male fan, eyes round, reached out and grabbed Yibo’s nearest arm.

Chaos erupted. Yanyan yelled and struggled to recover his balance as the male fan began to pull Yibo away from him. A large body hurtled into Yanyan’s view—Lele, who tackled the male fan to the ground. Yibo was yanked down with them, his baseball cap flying off and his mask knocked askew. The sight of his bared head and small, frightened face ignited something animalistic in Yanyan. With a roar, he dove forward.

He fell over Yibo like a human shield, his shadow covering Yibo’s panicked face. Yanyan wanted to tell him it was okay. He would protect him. But there was no time for that. He scooped Yibo up—he felt like a collection of bird bones—and hauled him tight against him. Yibo didn’t fight. He tucked his bared face against Yanyan’s shoulder and clutched his shirt as Yanyan slammed his way through the crowd and sprinted down the concourse with his precious cargo.

He didn’t know what was happening behind him, but he saw more security run past him to deal with it. Other people who looked to be in administrative uniforms waved him to a security door. Yanyan ran through it with Yibo in his arms, prepared to run up fifty flights of stairs if he needed to. But it wasn’t necessary. He was guided into a private room used by the airport police. There, and only there, did he dare to set Yibo down in one of the plastic chairs. Releasing him felt like letting go of a rope he’d trained himself to never let slip from his fingers.

“Are you okay?” Yanyan asked urgently as he squatted before Yibo. “Are you hurt?”

Wide-eyed and pale, Yibo shook his head. His hair stuck up wildly around his head. He’d lost his mask somewhere. He continued to clutch the front of Yanyan’s shirt with whitened fingers.

“Are you hurt?” Yanyan repeated, needing to know.

“I’m okay,” Yibo choked out finally. He took a deep breath, then began coughing.

He’s too worked up, Yanyan thought with dismay. He quickly dug through his own fanny pack and found the extra bottle of medicine that Yibo used to help control his cough. He handed it to him. It pained him to watch Yibo spray the liquid into the back of his throat with a hand that trembled.

“I owe you the deepest of apologies,” Yanyan rasped as he bowed his head. “I let you down. I’m sorry. I failed to protect you. I failed to do my job.”

It crushed him to recall the look on Yibo’s face as the fan had pulled him down to the floor. What kind of bodyguard was he to allow a stranger to lay hands on the one person he was supposed to protect? He was ashamed down to his marrow.

Yibo’s coughing tapered off enough for him to speak.

“W-when he pulled me away from you,” he stuttered. “I was so afraid.”

Yanyan, sickened, bowed his head lower. “I failed you.”

Yibo tugged on Yanyan’s shirt until he looked up. “I only feel safe with you and Lele-ge. I didn’t want to be torn away from you.”

“Yibo—”

“No, listen to me. I need you.”

Yanyan frowned. “But I let that fan grab you.”

“But then you saved me, Yanyan-ge. You pulled me out of there and you ran the entire way here while you carried me.” Yibo looked slightly awed. “You did that for me.”

“Because it’s my job.” 

Yibo’s face fell. “That’s all?”

If a knife had been nearby, Yanyan would have stabbed himself through the chest with it for putting such disappointment on Yibo’s face. Yanyan gripped the boy’s knee.

“No, that’s not why. I did it because I care for you, for your safety and your well-being. Lele and I—we would do anything to protect you, Yibo. Because you matter to us.”

“Yanyan-ge,” Yibo murmured, his eyes softening. “You’ve always been good to me.”

“We care a great deal,” Yanyan said, his throat tight.

Yibo smiled. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Yanyan looked down. “Lele and I will go through anything for you.”

The door burst open. Yanyan instinctively rose and spun, putting Yibo behind him. He slumped when he saw that it was Lele.

“He’s here?” Lele demanded, looking a bit wild-eyed for him.

Yanyan stepped to the side so his colleague could see Yibo, who waved. “He’s okay.”

Lele shut the door behind him before hurrying forward and dropping to a knee before Yibo. “Yibo, I want to apologize—”

“Save your breath.” Yibo’s smile was wry when Lele looked up at him in shock. “Yanyan-ge already did it for you, though it wasn’t necessary. You two did what you were supposed to do. What I needed you to.” He pressed his palms together in front of him and bent at the waist. “Thank you, geges, for watching out for me. You are truly good friends to me.”

“No, no. Don’t,” Lele said, looking embarrassed.

Yanyan patted the other man’s shoulder. “You won’t change his mind. Just accept it.”

Lele looked uncomfortable, obviously sharing Yanyan’s sense of guilt, but he nodded and accepted that this was what Yibo wanted.

“My agent?” Yibo asked.

“Fell and scraped her knee,” Lele told him as he stood. “She’s being treated.”

“She’ll be even crankier when she gets here, then,” Yibo said with a sigh. “That woman isn’t very pleasant.”

Yanyan and Lele glanced at each other and fought not to share smiles of agreement.

Within half an hour, she arrived, just as cranky as Yibo had predicted. Her injury hadn’t even warranted a bandage, but she limped the entire way to the airplane.

Yanyan and Lele settled Yibo into a window seat in his own two seat row. The two bodyguards took the same row in the middle section so they could keep an eye on their young charge and prevent anyone from disturbing him. While the flight attendant ran through the safety procedures, only the top of Yibo’s head was visible, the rest of his thin body bundled up in the three men’s blankets.

“This isn’t an easy job,” Yanyan murmured as the plane lifted off.

Beside him, Lele yawned. “No, but it’s the best job.”

Yanyan closed his eyes. Was that true? He made a lot of money. Yibo was extremely generous with bonuses and gifts. But the work was difficult. Yanyan couldn’t remember a point in his life before this when he’d been so tired. And there wouldn’t be any breaks in the future, either.

Not an easy job, no. But…he thought of what Yibo had said in the security office. _You are truly good friends to me._

Not bodyguards. He’d called them friends. Yanyan’s smile was content as he drifted into sleep.


	16. Bouboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write a Bouboo chapter, but then a spoiler from a later SDC episode came out and certain enablers on twitter egged me on and here we are. Come to think of it, that's how most fics come about, huh.
> 
> tags for chapter: size kink, fanboy Yibo, rated E (though G up until they reach the hotel room so if you want a Bouboo & Yibo story until then stop there)

It’s a wonderful feeling to have fans. Bouboo may not be an idol or a movie star, but he’s a celebrity in his own right. He has an enormous following among the street dancer community and the mere mention of his name is enough to inspire excitement and delirium. Yet compared to some others, he’s still mid-tier. Case in point: one extremely famous boy named Wang Yibo.

Bouboo’s knowledge of Wang Yibo before entering the Street Dance of China competition was that he was a young idol who’d participated in a few battles when he was a teenager. Bouboo did his research and watched the videos of Yibo’s competitions. They’re impressive for a child, but Yibo is no longer a child, though he’s still a decade younger than Bouboo himself.

Bouboo’s other knowledge of Wang Yibo is that he’s famous. Yibo’s the kind of famous that eclipses so-called idol famous (which seems to be huge in Asian countries). He’s national icon famous. Face-on-every-billboard-and-digital-sign famous. 

With that level of fame comes tremendous benefits. Specifically, there are benefits to being associated with a person with that kind of exposure. Bouboo is enough of a business person in addition to being a celebrity to understand how hitching his star to Yibo will only drag him into the stratosphere, too.

Bouboo had held back in joining previous seasons of SDC even though his girlfriend participated in season one. Bouboo hadn’t felt the time was right or been willing to commit to the months required. But with the inclusion of Wang Yibo as a captain, he feels it’s worth it to go. This is how endorsement deals with the biggest brands in the world are obtained. This is how Bouboo’s planetary domination can be solidified.

So with the advice of his personal team, he hatches a plan which isn’t as nefarious as it might sound: he’s going to seduce one Wang Yibo, and he’s going to do it through dance.

~~~~~

Simply being himself is usually enough to bring Bouboo opportunities. Someone mentions his name and suddenly people are offering him connections or suggesting competitions or workshops where he could earn money or accolades. He anticipates this happening while filming the opening show of SDC. 

It’s a large production requiring hundreds of dancers. Bouboo is just one of many, but thanks to his distinctive appearance he stands out everywhere he walks. He hears his name murmured and he waves or bows as appropriate. He poses for pictures and makes handshake deals. It’s just another day among dancers for him, until he hears a rumor: Wang Yibo has been looking for him.

Bouboo feels a small thrill because of course it’s nice to be wanted, but more importantly, it’s nice to be wanted by the celebrity who’s going to make him an even larger celebrity. So although his feet ache from all the hours of standing around, he forces himself to walk a circuit of the humongous staging area, his translator and mini entourage trailing him. With so many people to wade through, it seems impossible that he’ll ever run into Yibo, but then he sees the lights.

Lights, of course, mean someone is being filmed. Bouboo soon sees that it’s the person he’s looking for. He’s caught glimpses of Wang Yibo during the day and into the night. He’s taller than Bouboo expected, and very thin. His body is a dancer’s, all long, lean limbs, but it’s his face that captivates. It makes Bouboo think of a small, white flower sitting atop a slender stem. Objectively speaking, Wang Yibo has a perfectly symmetrical and smooth face with pleasing proportions. Subjectively, he’s a beautiful boy with something special to him that made Bouboo throw more than one look in his direction while he had the chance.

He draws closer to the lights where Wang Yibo is, but he doesn’t approach the area directly. This is a seduction. He isn’t going to pursue, he’s going to coax. So Bouboo loiters nearby, making sure other dancers see him and recognize him, and sure enough, word gets to Yibo that he’s there.

Unlike him, Yibo doesn’t play coy. He searches Bouboo out and when he finds him, he walks right up to him, hands extended.

“Bouboo, I am your fan,” Yibo says. No, he _gushes_. His smile is wide and starstruck. He’s not a famous star in that moment, he’s merely Bouboo’s adoring fan and it throws Bouboo for a loop. This isn’t the sort of treatment he expected from someone who’s more famous than he is.

Slightly flustered, Bouboo shakes his hand—both of them using double grips—and bows and says something back. Yibo gushes some more. He even performs a bit of one of Bouboo’s signature moves. Yibo has obviously watched many of his battles to know the importance of the move. It’s startling, though Bouboo quickly recovers. As they part ways and Yibo moves away, carrying his lights with him, Bouboo sees Yibo looking back, still grinning giddily as though he’s just met a superstar.

Bouboo is pleased. His plan is working better than he could have hoped.

~~~~~

At the auditions, it’s much of the same. Bouboo is trailed by admirers while he wanders around the set, awaiting his turn on Yibo’s street. Bouboo considers it fate that he’s been placed in the East district. Bouboo had given Yibo a towel during the first captains’ voting session, but he’s glad now that many other dancers didn’t since it resulted in the perfect serendipity of the two men meeting in the East district.

Again, Bouboo hears his name on the waves and he also hears that Yibo has again been asking about him like a boy waiting impatiently for Santa Claus to appear. It’s almost too easy, but Bouboo doesn’t take anything for granted.

When it’s his turn, he walks onto the street, carrying with him a glittery cloud of expectations. He can sense not only the excitement from the watching dancers—most of whom know of him or have met him—but also a sort of sugared energy coming from the street’s captain. Yibo’s grin is almost childlike in its pure, unadulterated joy at seeing him.

“I like you very much,” Yibo says immediately in that same gushing tone he used at the opening show. 

Flustered by the quick compliment, Bouboo replies with, “I love you.” 

He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed by the language flub because Yibo’s eyes light up like lamps and _ecstasy_ radiates from him. It’s the only way Bouboo can describe it.

Forcing himself to settle down, Bouboo begins his routine, though he thinks he could dance an Irish jig and it wouldn’t matter. Yibo has already requested a towel and holds it expectantly in his hand, making no secret of the fact that he’s passing Bouboo no matter what he does.

But Bouboo is a professional and he takes pride in his dance, so he completes his routine to the accompaniment of cheers and gasps and interestingly, of Yibo’s near orgasmic groans and cries of delight. It’s only a short, relatively simple routine, but Yibo reacts as though Bouboo has just battled for the World Championships.

“There’s no reason not to give to you,” Yibo says to the surprise of no one. “I like you so much.”

Yibo’s intensity is a little strange and a whole lot flattering. Bouboo is used to flattery, but when it comes from someone of such importance, it’s powerful stuff.

Yibo hangs the towel around Bouboo’s neck but holds on to the ends, forcing eye contact between them. When it comes—and with it the type of smile that Bouboo has never received from anyone except his girlfriend—Bouboo’s mind goes blank, wiped clean for Yibo to imprint upon it.

“I hope you can,” Yibo murmurs while gazing at him from beneath his lashes.

Bouboo doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. He feels borderline bashful, and he’s too experienced for that. He falls back on instinct which has him stepping into a hug that he hadn’t planned on giving. It feels right in light of the power that Yibo has insisted on infusing into this moment between them. A handshake is simply not enough.

As Bouboo walks off, waving acknowledgment of the congratulations he receives, he’s aware that half of him remains behind on the street, still yoked by Wang Yibo’s towel.

~~~~~

For Bouboo, battles are life. They’re his bread and butter. This 3v3 is nothing new or especially concerning to him. Somehow, though, it turns into something significant.

Yibo is screaming the entire time that Bouboo is dancing, as though every move Bouboo makes is the best he has ever seen. The feedback is _heady_. It pushes Bouboo through the fatigue and the breathlessness because this kind of high is what he lives for. Bouboo will battle a dozen dancers so long as Yibo keeps cheering him on so passionately.

It’s after he’s won and Yibo is chanting his name in victory that Bouboo suspects that a fundamental change has occurred while he wasn’t paying attention. He doesn’t know what it is, precisely, but it fills him with a sense of optimism, so he doesn’t fight it.

Besides, he’s nearly one hundred percent certain that Yibo is going to select him for his final team. They seem to be building a connection. Everything is going according to plan.

~~~~~

When it’s time for team selections, Bouboo is confident in the outcome. He needs to be on Wang Yibo’s team and he feels that Yibo is enamored enough by him to choose him. Before the dancers are guided into their rooms, Bouboo overhears some of them debating which captains they intend to pick.

It surprises him when he hears that some dancers from Yibo’s street are considering other captains. This is a business decision in the end. Why aren’t the dancers thinking about the bottom line? Wallace Chung is a delightful, friendly man, but the exposure a dancer will receive by being on his team is only a tiny fraction of what a dancer can expect to receive by being on Wang Yibo’s. It’s a no-brainer for any professional. 

He doesn’t say any of this aloud, of course. And in the end, compatibility will mean a lot, so Bouboo knows he’s not being mercenary with his decision. He respects Yibo’s dance experience and acumen and he feels that Yibo understands what he tries to do with his dancing. Probably Bouboo would have picked him anyway, famous or not. But fame is the deciding factor when all four of the captains try to win him over at once. Bouboo finds the attention funny and he enjoys it, and he plays with it because why not? However, his choice was made long ago and will not change no matter what the other three say to him.

Though, it doesn’t hurt that Yibo tries so earnestly to win him over with his under-the-lashes gaze and his coy smile. It’s hardly subtle, but Bouboo honestly loves it. It makes him smile and laugh and the voice inside him that points out that he’s acting like a schoolgirl being courted is easy to ignore while he’s enjoying their interactions so much.

 _You’re blushing,_ his girlfriend would have pointed out.

His girlfriend is not here.

~~~~~

They learn choreography as a team. Bouboo is not a dancer who regularly performs group choreography. He battles and he teaches. Those are his strengths. So when the team builds their routines, he’s regularly placed in the back in a supportive role, which is fine by him. It gives him the chance to evaluate his teammates and their captain.

Yibo has built a team for battling. Bouboo appreciates that mindset since it focuses heavily upon his own skillset. But Yibo, being an idol and accustomed to choreographed routines, has also picked all-around dancers for his team, so that even the b-boys can manage the moves that are developed for them. Their team ends up looking pretty good. Leading by example is their captain.

Like his teammates, Bouboo is deeply impressed by Wang Yibo’s dedication to dancing. He shows up at the practice room as soon as he arrives in the city. He stays as long as the last dancer continues dancing. And Yibo is good. He’s very good. Bouboo takes back his early discounting of Yibo’s skills. Yibo is no longer that child who battled in competitions. He’s a man who hasn’t lost his ear for the beat or his crisp perfectionism. Having a captain of his skill level is like having an extra teammate. They don’t need to choreograph around him to hide his weakness. They can use him as a focal point.

As the team makes it through round after round, battle after battle, they lose some teammates but some things remain consistent: the team’s persistence and loyalty, and Yibo’s willingness to physically put himself on the line alongside the rest of them. It’s an attractive trait that slips beneath Bouboo’s skin while he isn’t looking.

Yibo manages to control himself around Bouboo now that he sees him regularly. He’s no longer a starry-eyed fanboy, though his admiration still bleeds from every pore. Whenever Bouboo practices some moves or tries out different versions, he knows he can glance into the mirrors and find Yibo watching him attentively. He’s like a kitten and Bouboo is his ball of yarn. Yibo can’t seem to look away and maybe sometimes, just sometimes, Bouboo takes advantage of that.

Getting a reaction out of Yibo is a joy. For an actor and entertainer, he has terrible expression control when it comes to watching other people dance. With Bouboo in particular, Yibo is a waterfall of reactions, the cascade not stopping until Bouboo himself stops. 

The first time it happens is by accident. Bouboo, aware that Yibo is watching, thinks to try a complicated and comedic move that involves moving his head independently of his neck while his hands pretend to juggle his skull. He thinks it’ll make a tired-looking Yibo laugh. When he tries it out, Yibo nearly falls off the medicine ball he’s sitting on and lets out a whoa! that’s loud enough to turn the heads of the other dancers. Bouboo grins, loving the feedback, and thoughtlessly winks at Yibo to show his appreciation.

Yibo’s eyes go comically round and his cheeks turn red and he curls his shoulders inwards and somehow becomes small even though he’s quite tall…and Bouboo loves it. He loves the reaction as much as he loved seeing Yibo flip out.

So it keeps happening. Sometimes Bouboo will wink at him in the middle of a move. Or sometimes he’ll wag his eyebrows, ostensibly as part of his dance and in time with the beat, but he’ll do it while looking deeply into Yibo’s eyes and it brings that blush to Yibo’s cheeks and that shy self-hug as though Yibo is so overwhelmed that he needs someone to hold him.

Such reactions are addictive, and they’re transformative. Bouboo isn’t really a touchy-feeling person, but he becomes one around Yibo. Any touch he gives Yibo, no matter how inconsequential, wrings a shiver or a duck of the head or a self-conscious but clearly delighted smile from him. Yibo has taken to asking Bouboo to teach him and Bouboo normally wouldn’t continue doing it—he’s here to dance himself, not serve as a teacher—if it weren’t for the way Yibo lights up at his praise and the way his pupils grow when he looks up at Bouboo

when he looks up at Bouboo

when he looks up at Bouboo…

Yibo is crushing on him. When he realizes it, Bouboo winks at him twice.

~~~~~

Bouboo’s team back home, which books him for instructional workshops and manages his competition schedule, asks him how it’s going. They want to know if he’s made any lucrative contacts and how many new endorsement deals he’s picked up. They’re eager to know how large his circle of influence has grown now that he’s on the most popular team on a show that tops the variety chart each week. They ask him how much being near Wang Yibo has helped.

He tells them the truth. This week alone he’s picked up a fruit drink endorsement and partnered with an apparel company. Two weeks ago he was invited to guest judge three dance competitions. Wang Yibo, he tells his team, has offered to get him in touch with some up-and-coming streetwear companies that are looking for their first celebrity endorser. The Plan is paying off, in other words, and his partners are happy. So is Bouboo. 

Yet why does it feel like something is missing?

~~~~~

Over the weeks, Yibo’s team is whittled down. They lose dancer after dancer and it’s difficult emotionally. The rules for resurrection seem to change on the fly, so Yibo encourages his remaining teammates not to think about it, just to dance and try their best. Though he’s torn apart by each dancer he loses, Yibo’s exuberance for the dancing never dims, not even a little.

Bouboo is blinded by his passion. He admits it to himself one night after a particularly brutal filming. Team Wave of King Bombs is down to less than a handful of dancers standing. Yibo can’t hide his desperation or possessiveness of them. After filming, he doesn’t seem to want to leave their sides, as though he fears the production crew will come up with a way to eliminate them once he leaves the set.

Bouboo squeezes Yibo’s shoulder and says, “It’s okay. We are okay, Yibo.”

Communication between him and Yibo has always been through basic English. They have a better understanding visually. Yibo looks up at him and Bouboo tells him what he needs to convey using his eyes. Yibo gulps and nods, still afraid, but trusting that Bouboo won’t leave him.

 _I would never,_ Bouboo thinks, before an epiphany hits him.

“Hey, Bouboo,” Yang Kai calls, interrupting his shock. The bboy is standing apart from their group with a member of the production crew. He speaks through Bouboo’s translator: “There are a couple of people who want to talk to you. Some executives or something.”

Bouboo inhales sharply. He has an idea who they could be. Yibo has offered to hook him up with a major accessories endorsement and mentioned they might be coming tonight to discuss it with him. It’s a deal Bouboo has been looking forward to for a week. It may be one of the biggest of his career if he can snag it.

Yibo, who’s missed the conversation, continues to hover anxiously, his eyes on the show directors. He’s obviously stressed. He nearly looks sick. Bouboo looks at him and then he looks at Yang Kai. And then he thinks of the epiphany he reached.

Bouboo knows exactly what he’s losing and what he might be gaining when he tells Yang Kai, “I can’t. I am taking him to my room.”

He doesn’t know how his teammates interpret that. Whatever they think, they approve of with thumbs up. Bouboo tugs Yibo with him to the exit. When Yibo’s bodyguards move to follow, Yibo shakes his head and tells them he’ll see them in the morning.

Bouboo crosses his fingers. He doesn’t believe in luck, but he prays for it now.

The hotel is connected to the filming stages by a hallway. As they traverse it, Yibo chatters about the battles and which parts of the judging he felt was unfair and how he wishes he could have offered more support. He’s worked up by the time Bouboo gets him to his room, unlocks the door, and lets them inside. If someone had told Yibo he needed to battle at that moment, Bouboo is sure he would have done it gladly.

But the battles are over, and Bouboo has no interest in defeating his young captain. He shuts the door and leaves the light off as he steers Yibo backward toward the bed. Yibo must know what’s about to happen because he falls silent and he doesn’t resist. He does sigh, though, the sound deep as though it’s something he’s been holding in for weeks. Bouboo guesses it’s actually been months.

There’s enough light coming in through the thin curtains covering the windows for Bouboo to see every inch of Yibo as he begins pulling his clothes off him. At first he’s careful, giving Yibo time to decline. But once Yibo toes off his own shoes and then reaches for the waistband of Bouboo’s track pants, doubt goes out the window.

Bouboo has their shirts off in no time. He gives Yibo a couple of seconds to admire the tattoos covering his chest and for him to run his own eyes over Yibo’s pale, coltish upper body, before Bouboo wraps his long fingers around Yibo’s face and lifts it up to his descending mouth.

Kissing Yibo is wet and filthy thanks to his fat, luscious lips. Bouboo has been taunted by them for months, watching them widen as he yells and pucker tightly around lollipops and water bottles. Bouboo bites at them and then licks them to sooth them. When Yibo gasps, Bouboo’s tongue is there, as agile as the rest of him, slipping between the plump lips and into the hot cavern of Yibo’s mouth. He licks Yibo out and holds his cheeks as he tongue-fucks him. It turns him on that he can surround Yibo’s entire face with his hands and it makes his cock hard when Yibo grabs Bouboo’s shoulders and holds on tightly, refusing to let him back off from the hungry kiss.

They’re nearly the same height, but Bouboo feels far taller as he pushes his thigh between Yibo’s thin legs and presses it against his cock. Yibo’s erection is long and hefty. Bouboo has glimpsed its shape many times through the thin pants Yibo wears to practice and during some shows. It’s only recently that Bouboo’s begun thinking about just _how_ long and _how_ hefty it is. It feels meaty against his thigh. But it’s nothing compared to his own dick, as Yibo will soon discover.

Bouboo rocks Yibo against him, makes him ride his thigh and dig that big dick into Bouboo’s hip. Yibo goes with everything that Bouboo dictates, following the choreography of sex. However, he’s not passive. When Bouboo releases him from their kiss, Yibo immediately mouths at Bouboo’s shoulder and scrapes his teeth along his neck, his breath gusting hot and humid.

Yibo’s back and sides are sheened with muscle and sweat. Bouboo touches everything he can reach. Thanks to his long arms and hands he can reach nearly everything. He caresses Yibo between his legs, fingers teasing over his perineum and balls. He pinches the inside of Yibo’s thighs so he widens his stance and allows Bouboo to push a long finger between his ass cheeks. He doesn’t penetrate, but he circles questioningly. Yibo’s full body shudder and the moan he spills against Bouboo’s neck is an answer. It’s the right answer.

Rarely do people expect Bouboo to be strong, but with his height, he holds hidden muscle. Besides, Yibo is so thin that most of the dancers on their team can throw him around. It’s no big surprise that Bouboo can do it here, tossing Yibo face first onto the bed. As he bounces, Bouboo retrieves the lube from his suitcase. He applies it to himself, stroking slowly as he does when he’s alone, but this time he’s got much better inspiration than fantasies.

Yibo, on all fours, turns his head and gasps.

“Big,” he breathes. There’s wonder and a touch of apprehension in his voice. Beneath him, Bouboo see his cock lengthen another half inch.

Yibo’s a vision: all angles like a mantis, yet creamy and glowing in the dim lighting. There’s no question he’s a male, but there’s just enough softness about his face to tickle the imagination. _Who else has been fortunate enough to see you like this?_ Bouboo wonders, momentarily jealous. But it’s not a question to speak aloud and it’s enough that _he’s_ the one with Wang Yibo right now. Bouboo is going to make it count.

Yibo drops to one elbow and reaches beneath himself to take himself in hand. With his lips parted, he strokes himself in time to Bouboo’s strokes. That dazed look is on Yibo’s face again, though Bouboo doubts Yibo is fanboying him at a time like this. Or maybe, only a little.

“Big,” he hears Yibo whisper again, eyes locked on Bouboo’s cock. Bouboo can’t help but laugh. Yibo is just too cute.

He’s also making Bouboo wild for him.

“Big enough, yeah?” he asks softly, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, Bouboo.” Yibo licks his lips. “Big enough.”

Bouboo smiles and tips back his head, content to fully enjoy himself as he strokes himself to full hardness. Every so often he tilts his head so he can see Yibo on the bed, and every time he does so, his balls tighten up with anticipation.

“Bouboo,” Yibo whispers after a couple of minutes. “Please. We can…I want you.”

His broken English is somehow a turn-on—has always been if Bouboo is being honest with himself. Bouboo can’t resist it. He nods and smiles before placing a knee on the bed between Yibo’s legs. Yibo is kneeling close enough to the edge that Bouboo can keep one foot on the ground, his leg straight. He tugs Yibo back by the hips. Such small hips…

He strokes Yibo all over. The visual impact of his big, dark hands on Yibo’s body—the contrast—is fascinating and arousing. Bouboo feels like he can engulf Yibo’s entire body in his hands. When he has Yibo trembling and his head is hanging while he pants for breath, Bouboo brushes his lips down Yibo’s spine, adorning each knobby vertebra with a kiss until he reaches the seam of his ass.

Bouboo’s palms cover the tight globes entirely, like he’s holding a pair of milk buns. He squeezes and kneads, smiling when Yibo bows his back and spreads his legs wider. A tiny push of the palm is all Bouboo needs to reveal his pucker. It looks so small…Bouboo can’t wait to stretch it and stuff it full of cock.

The first lick pulls a cry of surprise from Yibo. The follow-up licks make him aggressively hump forward. Yibo’s not shy. He moves his body like a panther’s, with grace and power, fucking into his hand while arching his back to open himself further for Bouboo’s tongue. He wants it. He doesn’t need English to make his demand clear. Bouboo is in no mood to deny him. Just from eating him out, Bouboo’s balls feel like they’re throbbing and his cock is wet and eager to open Yibo fully.

After smearing more lube on Yibo’s rim and using his fingers to stretch him, Bouboo is ready to show Yibo his best moves. He holds Yibo by the back of the neck as though he’s a panther cub, fingers tightening to keep him in place as he begins to enter him. It was always going to be an effort. Bouboo is just too huge. Yibo is shiny with sweat and shaking by the time Bouboo bottoms out, but there’s no sign of protest or discomfort from Yibo. His moan is long and filthy, as though he’s just been pierced by the biggest cock of his life and he wants more of it. So Bouboo gives it to him.

The benefit of being a dancer with extraordinary body control is that you’re good in bed. Bouboo doesn’t pretend otherwise and he proves it to Yibo quickly. The little gyrations of his hips, the shallow thrusts interspersed with a hard deep-dicking, the full body vibration—Yibo’s voice rises in shock and arousal. He claws the bed frantically. His arm jackhammers as he jerks himself. His body shudders and twitches as Bouboo inflicts various moves on him. In minutes, Yibo is sobbing and babbling unintelligibly in Mandarin.

Bouboo isn’t unaffected. Once again, Yibo’s reactions have overwhelmed him. Bouboo believes there is nothing he can do that Yibo won’t go crazy over and it’s a rush. Bouboo, normally masterful at controlling himself, discovers his Kryptonite is Wang Yibo. The more Bouboo tries to please him, the more Yibo reacts, holding nothing back—the faster Bouboo rockets toward his climax.

 _I’m going to lose this battle, aren’t I?_ Disbelief ricochets through him.

But it’s too late to mount a defense. Yibo’s love of being fucked is Bouboo’s downfall. Bouboo loses his finesse. He regresses to pure animal need. He slams in harder and faster, rocking the bed and slamming the headboard against the wall until, with a gasp, he pulls out and jerks himself wildly. His groan sounds tortured as he watches himself paint white streak after white streak up the length of Yibo’s back. 

Beneath him, Yibo moans when the first squirts hit him. He drops face down on the bed and whimpers into the cover. Though he’s dizzy, Bouboo thrusts two of his longest fingers into Yibo’s ass and pumps them, determined to give his captain what he needs. Yibo moans out Bouboo’s name. He rides his fingers in a dirty dance before abruptly clamping down and cumming. The undulations of his body are nothing less than beautiful. It’s the best dance Bouboo has seen in weeks.

In the aftermath, when Bouboo is lying beside Yibo on the bed, struggling to catch his breath, Yibo runs his hand possessively down the center of Bouboo’s chest.

“My Bouboo,” he murmurs. He sounds both exhausted and elated. “Knew you would be mine.”

Understanding strikes Bouboo, then, and he has no choice but to laugh. It turns out he wasn’t the only one who entered this competition with a plan. Yibo might be a pretty face with a penchant for chasing stars, but no one can accuse him of being stupid.


	17. Xiao Bao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel confident that I single-handedly added 800 views to the multiple video clips circulating about this battle. I will NEVER get over it 😆
> 
> The last time I wrote a topping from the bottom fic, I got grief for it because apparently I'm only allowed to write bottom Yibo fics. Sorry, but the exciting thing about dominance is that it isn't always physical, though that's how I prefer to express it in fics. But I think it can be sexy shown through other ways, and I hope you agree. Btw, I hope Xiao Bao doesn't come across negatively here. I took some creative liberties with his personality. I do think he's actually pretty vulnerable, but that didn't play into my narrative 😅
> 
> tags for this chapter: pwp, dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, topping from the bottom, rated E

Yibo drew to a stop, his eyes rounding. “What are you doing here? How did you get inside?”

Xiao Bao, lounging on the hotel bed wearing only a pair of skintight purple leggings, draped his arm across his head so his hand dangled beside his face, framing it. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t get what I wanted.”

The answer wasn’t the answer Yibo wanted to hear. Ignoring the other dancer for the time being, he inspected the bathroom and closets.

“You think I’d bring anyone else?” Xiao Bao scoffed. “Puhleeze. I don’t need the drama. I’m here for a one-on-one conversation.”

“Where’s your phone?”

Xiao Bao pointed to a small hip bag on a chair. Yibo found his phone, checked that it wasn’t recording, and turned it off.

“Conversation, huh?” Now that Yibo had determined that Xiao Bao had indeed snuck into his room on his own, he leaned against the clothes dresser, arms crossed, to study the older man. “You’re half-naked and lying on my bed. What kind of conversation do you expect to have?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We can discuss a certain battle.”

Yibo nodded, though he couldn’t say he’d expected this. When Zhang Meng, over hotpot, had questioned how he’d acted during the battle, he’d been honestly surprised. It had seemed like a pretty cut and dried situation to him. Xiao Bao had provoked, Yibo had responded. It was how battles went.

But the reactions of their guests, and even of his fellow captains, had showed how wrong he was. What he’d done tonight during filming had been a Big Deal, apparently.

“Are you upset?” Yibo asked the waacker.

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the conversation about?”

“I’ll do a livestream after this episode airs and tell everyone the right things to protect you. But that’s then.” Xiao Bao tilted his head coquettishly. “This is now and it’s just the two of us here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Xiao Bao rolled his eyes. “I get it, you know. I do. You’re young and you’re beautiful and the hottest thing in China. You can’t afford the controversy. But this isn’t the first time you’ve pinged on my gaydar—hello, the three versus three battle where your teammates groped you? I doubt it’ll be the last time you ping.” Xiao Bao ran his eyes over Yibo from head to toe. “You’re a top. Or maybe you’re a switch for the right guy. With me, though, you’d need to be in control. Just like you controlled me on that dance floor.” He licked his lips. “You held me so tightly I couldn’t move away from you. It was sexy.”

Nervousness began to well in Yibo. He didn’t know how this situation was going to play out.

“I told you on set when you apologized to me that it was only battling,” he said. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Xiao Bao pouted. “Then why did I feel your hard-on against my leg?”

Yibo smirked slightly and looked away. “I get turned on, sometimes, when I dance hard.”

“If that’s true, honey, then you must be jacking it every night.” Xiao Bao lowered his arm and curled his finger. “Come here.”

“Get off my bed.”

“Make me, baobei. Or are you only fierce when you’re in front of the cameras?”

Xiao Bao’s words pushed a button in Yibo, though he was careful not to let it show. He shoved away from the dresser and approached the bed. Xiao Bao rolled onto his back and posed seductively, arms thrown above his head, one knee raised, as he gazed up at Yibo.

“Remember what it felt like to grab hold of me?” he murmured. “I couldn’t move away. Your hand was around the back of my neck, keeping us close no matter how much I struggled. You were in control of my entire body. It was your dance. I could only do what you wanted.” Xiao Bao licked his lips again. “Come on, Yibo. _Baobei._ Work off some of that panther energy.”

“You think you’re my type?” 

Xiao Bao honestly wasn’t, but he wore his confidence like a cape. It was impossible to ignore. Yibo had always responded well to confidence…

“I think you want to finish what you started on the stage,” Xiao Bao taunted.

Yibo straddled him, with one knee on the bed and one foot on the floor.

Xiao Bao sat up slightly and slowly placed his palms on the thighs of Yibo’s pants. Holding Yibo’s gaze, he slid his hands up, inch by inch, until he held him by the hips. His fingers curled into the waistband of Yibo’s pants.

“All the dancers have been talking about you,” Xiao Bao breathed.

Yibo tried not to panic. “What have they been saying?”

“That you’re packing an eggplant in here.” Xiao Bao dropped his gaze to the front of Yibo’s pants. “I think they’re right after what I felt tonight. But I want to know for certain.”

Yibo held his breath as the other dancer leaned forward and blew air against his groin. Yibo couldn’t feel anything through the fabric, but the suggestiveness of it and the visual were enough to send blood rushing to his cock.

“I’m tired of wondering,” Xiao Bao went on. “I’m going to find out for myself.”

Without waiting for Yibo’s response, Xiao Bao pressed his open mouth to him. Yibo sucked in his breath and laced his fingers behind his neck as the older man mouthed him through the fabric.

“Even bigger,” Xiao Bao groaned as he worked his lips over Yibo’s rising length. “Fuck, you’re packing a monster.”

Yibo shivered as Xiao Bao found the tip of him and began to squeeze and suck him through the fabric. His head tipped back and he stared at the ceiling, breathing through his mouth as his pants and underwear were pulled down his hips, allowing his erection to pop free. He knew he was crazy to allow this, but Xiao Bao was right: Yibo had been aroused during the battle and it hadn’t left him.

“Praise the gods,” Xiao Bao whispered. He kissed the shaft of Yibo’s cock. “Even better than I’d hoped for.” He cupped Yibo’s balls and stroked the orbs with his thumbs. His lips drifted up and down the length of him. “This is going to split me in two, isn’t it? Mmmm, I can’t wait to sit on you, baobei. You’re going to fill me up to my throat.”

Yibo held back a groan as wetness and heat slipped over the tip of his cock and slid down him to the trim hairs at his groin. Xiao Bao moaned and swallowed around the head before withdrawing slowly, keeping his lips clamped tight around the shaft. He pushed back in, taking Yibo deep again, until he had Yibo panting.

His hands found their way to the back of Xiao Bao’s head, holding him as he bobbed back and forth, expertly deep throating him. Fingers teased behind his balls but didn’t slide back toward his rim. Instead, Xiao Bao pressed a knuckle against Yibo’s perineum and massaged his prostate from the outside.

It was sneakily effective. Yibo let the first moan slip out as Xiao Bao pressed rhythmically while swirling his tongue around his cock. It was intense sensation against his two greatest erogenous zones and in no time Yibo was clutching Xiao Bao’s head and thrusting down his throat.

For several minutes the room was filled with the sounds of gasping breaths, lewd sucking noises, and the occasional moan that Yibo couldn’t keep locked up. For as mouthy as Xiao Bao was outside of bed, he was unexpectedly quiet, which amplified the sounds that Yibo made. He wanted to keep quiet, too, because this felt sort of like an extension of their dance battle. But he simply couldn’t when everything felt so good. When his legs began to shake and the knee of his straight leg was on the verge of buckling, Xiao Bao suddenly let Yibo’s cock go and yanked Yibo around, sending him sprawling onto his back on the bed.

“Easier this way,” Xiao Bao said with a coy look as he tugged Yibo’s pants all the way off him and then crawled up between his legs. “Get your shirt off.”

Yibo hesitated, but acknowledged how silly it would be to remain partially dressed through this, so he yanked his shirt off and tossed it. “Now you.”

“Already happening, baobei.” Xiao Bao shimmied out of his leggings and toed them off the end of the bed before swooping down over Yibo’s cock again, slurping it down.

“God,” Yibo groaned as he arched off the bed and pushed himself deeper into the other man’s mouth. He combed his fingers through Xiao Bao’s hair. “You’re so good at this.”

Xiao Bao dragged the flat of his tongue down the vein running beneath Yibo’s cock and licked at his balls. “Of course I am. I’m good at a lot of things, as you’re going to find out.”

Yibo alternated between tugging on Xiao Bao’s hair and fisting the bedcover as the other dancer worked him over. When he wasn’t sucking Yibo’s cock Xiao Bao was lapping at his balls. When he wasn’t stroking Yibo’s base with his hand, he was pressing fingertips up between his legs, applying pressure to his prostate. Yibo’s heels slid agitatedly across the bed. He couldn’t control his hips as they lifted with increasing urgency.

Xiao Bao flicked his tongue along Yibo’s inner thigh before lightly biting him. “I want to sit on your big, fat eggplant,” he whispered. “I want you to break me open with it, baobei.”

Yibo groaned, eyes clenching tight. He hadn’t planned on sex tonight or any night in the near future, but now that the option was on the table he couldn’t find a reason to refuse. Well, truthfully there were a lot of reasons, all tied to his reputation and possible scandal, but it would be his word against Xiao Bao’s, and Yibo was the more famous…

“Okay,” he gasped, giving in.

“Good boy,” Xiao Bao whispered, wringing a shiver out of Yibo. The waacking dancer rolled fluidly off the bed to his pack and grabbed something, which he showed to Yibo: a packaged condom. “I’m always prepared,” Xiao Bao said, blowing him a kiss. He crawled back up between Yibo’s legs and took his time rolling the condom over him.

By the time he was finished, Yibo was gritting his teeth from all the teasing. “Don’t you need to stretch yourself?” he asked as the other man straddled his hips and aimed Yibo between his cheeks.

“Did it before you entered the room,” Xiao Bao said smugly. “I didn’t want to waste any time. You can thank me later.”

Yibo bit his lips to keep silent as Xiao Bao slowly sank down on him. The other dancer was true to his word. He was well stretched and oiled and was able to take Yibo with only a couple of pauses to adjust. In less than a minute, his muscled ass rested fully on Yibo’s hips. He felt like fire around Yibo’s cock, like soft, squeezing fire.

They both breathed deeply, appreciating the moment, until Xiao Bao, with a mischievous smirk, clenched his internal muscles. Yibo hissed, his hands flying to Xiao Bao’s hips.

“Nuh uh.” Xiao Bao wagged his finger at him. “Hands on the headboard.” He pointed above Yibo’s head. “I’m not moving until you do.”

The suspicion that he’d been manipulated slid through Yibo, but it was too late to regret it now. Reluctantly he reached up behind him and curled his hands around the edge of the low-profile headboard. The position kept his elbows pointed at his feet and his forearms parallel to the bed.

“You take your hands off and I stop moving,” Xiao Bao warned him with an expression that confirmed what Yibo had dreaded. “And don’t think I can’t do it. I’ve been gay longer than you have, honey.” Xiao Bao patted his cheek. “That’s a good boy. Now let’s see who wins the battle this time, hmm?”

He didn’t rise and fall. He rolled his hips in what looked like a dance move. A dance move that squeezed and stroked Yibo while keeping him hugged in the heat of Xiao Bao’s body. Yibo flung his head back and bit back a gasp. Xiao Bao did it again and then kept doing it, rotating and rolling, his inner muscles squeezing in ripples along Yibo’s cock to milk him.

His breath finally burst from him when Xiao Bao placed his hands on Yibo’s chest and bounced, just a little. The pressure against the head of Yibo’s cock felt a thousand times better than his hand or a blowjob.

“That was my moment,” Xiao Bao said almost conversationally as he continued to fuck himself on Yibo’s cock. His fingers stroked and plucked at Yibo’s nipples. “The stage was mine, and then you went and stole it from me, baobei. That was really rude of you.”

“You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t have provoked me,” Yibo gasped, his heart thundering when Xiao Bao began pinching his nipples. He whimpered and flushed in embarrassment at the sound, but Xiao Bao only smiled and licked his fingers before pinching him again, making Yibo moan behind his pinched lips.

“That crown was mine,” Xiao Bao went on. He lifted up on his knees, higher than he had before, and then dropped back down. He repeated the action, picking up speed when Yibo began to move his legs restlessly. “I put it on my head, but everyone was too busy screaming about you to notice me.”

Yibo met his eyes and said, “Then you should have danced better.”

Hurt crossed Xiao Bao’s face, but it was quickly followed by a look of calculation. He abruptly bent over Yibo and grabbed him by the hair. Yibo nearly let go of the headboard, but kept the grip because Xiao Bao continued to fuck him, the angle even better for Yibo now as his cock slid out to the head before Xiao Bao slapped his ass back to swallow him again.

Xiao Bao held his hair firmly while staring into Yibo’s face. He was looking for something and Yibo was afraid he’d find it.

“You used up precious seconds of my time holding me the way you did,” Xiao Bao told him. “Now it’s my turn for a little revenge.”

Yibo swallowed, worried about what he intended. Ordinarily he would have gotten up and left. But that was all but impossible while Xiao Bao rode him so aggressively, basically fucking Yibo into the mattress—and making it feel damn incredible in the process.

“How long have you liked boys?” Xiao Bao whispered while holding Yibo’s head immobile. 

“You’re crazy if you think…I’ll answer that,” Yibo panted.

Xiao Bao bent down and gently kissed Yibo on the cheek. “When did boys like me begin noticing how pretty you are?”

Yibo blushed and frowned. Xiao Bao laughed softly.

“They came after you early, didn’t they?” He smirked. “I’ve seen pictures of you. Little blond boy. Looking like a girl. I’m kind of jealous, though I know I’m fierce in my own way.” Xiao Bao shrugged before nuzzling Yibo’s cheek again. “You were—you _are_ —the kind of pretty that makes even the straight boys take notice. How many of them throw themselves at you on a daily basis?”

Yibo shut his eyes against the questions and dug his feet into the mattress so he could fuck up into Xiao Bao. He pushed in deep and had the satisfaction of hearing Xiao Bao moan before he got control of himself.

“No, that’s not how this is going to go,” the older dancer declared, giving Yibo a shake using the grip on his hair. “You’re going to lie there like you should have just sat there during the battle, and you’re going to let me have my fun. You got that, baobei?”

Yibo turned his face away when fingers found one of his nipples again. Xiao Bao thumbed it while kissing along Yibo’s jawline.

“Your fans all call you a lion. You call yourself a panther.” Yibo shivered as Xiao Bao licked up his throat. “But I think you’re just a pretty boy who’s no top at all.” Xiao Bao sat up suddenly. Bracing himself on Yibo’s chest, he began to slam himself on Yibo’s cock, taking him deep and fast.

Yibo gasped and tightened his fingers around the headboard. Xiao Bao’s body gripped him tightly, perfectly, stroking him from root to tip until Yibo heard himself begin to moan beneath his breath.

“Don’t cum,” Xiao Bao told him. His cheeks shone with sweat and were blotched with color. He bit his bottom lip and groaned as he paused to grind before he resumed slamming himself on Yibo. “You made me your bitch on the dance floor, but you’re my bitch here, you got that?”

Yibo hated that the provocative words turned him on and that Xiao Bao knew it. In truth, Yibo couldn’t remember the last time he’d topped, but giving in to Xiao Bao after their faceoff had been inconceivable to him. His competitive nature wouldn’t allow it.

But here, Xiao Bao was giving him a lesson: it didn’t matter whose dick was in whose ass. Topping was a state of mind, and Yibo didn’t have it.

Above him, Xiao Bao put on a show, caressing his chest, feeling own his nipples. He tossed his head back dramatically and arched his back as he fucked himself on Yibo. He’d left his own cock alone up until now, but with his peak nearing, he began to stroke himself while gazing down at Yibo from beneath his low-lidded eyes.

“I’m going to cum,” Xiao Bao panted. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and shuddered, his hand going still on his cock. After a second, he opened his eyes again and resumed stroking himself. “You’re not going to, do you understand me?”

“Why not?” Yibo asked, breathless and aching. Every time Xiao Bao slammed down, Yibo thrust his hips up to meet him. His back and abs were becoming sore, but no way was he going to lie there passively.

“Because you’re no top, you’re a bottom boy,” Xiao Bao said, his eyes glittering with something sharp and hungry that stole Yibo’s breath. “Because being fucked is what gets you off faster than anything else. So, baobei, you’re going to let me fuck you. That means doing what I say.”

It felt like their dance battle, with Xiao Bao arrogantly poking at Yibo, daring him to respond. The problem was Xiao Bao was right. Yibo did get off on letting someone take control of him in bed. 

His pride could take the beating, he decided. He gripped the headboard tighter.

“I’ll do what you say,” he whispered.

Heat flared in Xiao Bao’s eyes. “There’s a good boy. Now let’s have some fun.”

He leaned forward and covered Yibo’s hands with his own, pinning them to the headboard. Yibo groaned at being held in position. He lifted his knees and rolled his hips to get deeper into Xiao Bao. It seemed to hit the right spot for the waacker, for he moaned loudly suddenly and arched his back. His dick rubbed up the center of Yibo’s body, creating streaks of moisture.

“Gonna cum all over you,” Xiao Bao moaned as he rocked against Yibo. “Make you so wet…”

Pained by the dirty talk, Yibo pleaded with his eyes and his words. “Please,” he whimpered.

Triumph flared on Xiao Bao’s face. “You want to cum, baobei?”

“Yes!”

Xiao Bao bent down and kissed his gasping lips. “Wait for the Queen,” he whispered.

Yibo groaned, but there was nothing he could do but take the fucking. Xiao Bao rode him hard, no longer caring about touching Yibo. The waacker was looking out for himself. He laughed as he used Yibo for his pleasure. Though Yibo should have been upset by it, a dirty part of him loved that he was only a toy for the other man.

“Gonna…cum!” Xiao Bao cried out, both hands rising to his own hair and gripping. He arched, posing as if on a magazine cover. Pearls spurted from the tip of his cock, spattering Yibo’s chest all the way up to his throat.

Yibo let go of the headboard to grab the other man’s hips and yank him down. Xiao Bao keened and shot more cum over Yibo. Desperate, Yibo rocked up into him.

“Please!” he choked out. “Come on!”

Xiao Bao’s head fell forward and he looked down at Yibo almost as if he’d forgotten him. He looked drunk or high. His grin was crooked.

“Aw, are you waiting for permission?” he cooed.

With a growl, Yibo rolled them. Xiao Bao yelped as he was thrown on his back. Yibo didn’t give him time to think about it. He fucked hard into the older dancer, chasing his own peak. The bed rocked violently. Yibo felt mindless. He was nearly there…nearly…there—

His cry exploded from between his lips as he came in shuddering jolts. Absently he noticed hands on his back, stroking along his spine and over his ass, but he could only focus on the pleasure rocketing through him in waves.

When it finally subsided, he collapsed, exhausted. The body beneath him shook with laughter.

“It’s too bad you’re not a top, because that was super manly,” Xiao Bao told him with a giggle.

Sighing, Yibo carefully disengaged and rolled off. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay.”

He received a pat in the sticky center of his chest. “I know. You have other boys to play with.”

Yibo glared, but Xiao Bao ignored it to roll out of bed and saunter to the bathroom, his hips swaying from side to side. The water ran for a while before he emerged and dressed. Yibo watched him warily, unsure what happened next. 

“No need to look so scared,” Xiao Bao told him with a smirk. “This stays between us. You’re a straight boy, remember? And I prefer the older captains. Especially Yixing-ge.” Xiao Bao fanned himself with his hands. “Mmm, if only I’d provoked _him._ But he wouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Such a pity.” Xiao Bao wiggled his fingers at him. “Bye, baobei. See you next time we shoot. Maybe we’ll battle again another day.”

Yibo smiled wryly as the other man waltzed out. He wasn’t counting on battling like _that_ ever again.


	18. Wang Dalu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I forgot about this collection and I could have added the recent Wang Leehom story to it. D'oh! Guess that means I'll need to write a second fic of them sometime. In the meantime...
> 
> The twitter gang wanted something with these two after the video clip surfaced of Wang Dalu gushing about how shy and cute Yibo was during the DDU episode where Dalu was a guest, so here we are! Dalu has called Yibo cute more than once, so he's got good taste.
> 
> tags for this chapter: PWP, rated M to E-ish

Yibo suppressed his sigh and raised his head when the door opened. Wang Dalu slipped inside the room with a finger raised to his lips.

“I promised the staff that I wasn’t going to disturb you,” the older man said with an enormous grin on his face.

“So you lied,” Yibo drawled as he tucked his phone into his back pocket. It was difficult to be angry with Dalu. He was one of Yibo’s friends who, much like Han Dongjun, seemed to wear a perpetual smile on his face.

“I can’t disturb you since I’m your friend,” was Dalu’s logic. He pushed in the lock in the knob with an ominous _click_ and winked at Yibo. “They said when you come into this room everyone knows not to disturb you, but…just in case, right?”

Yibo nodded, suspicion beginning to rise in him as to why his friend had sought him out. Filming for today’s episode of DDU was complete, but the director always asked the guests and hosts to stick around just in case reshoots were needed. The review of footage typically took around a half an hour or so, so Yibo would retreat to this secondary prop room for some privacy while he waited. 

Dalu was correct that the staff knew not to bother him when he was in here unless it was time to shoot. They would have warned The Wolf star, and since he wasn’t a pushy or aggressive person, he must have a reason for breaking the ‘rules.’

“Fun episode,” Dalu said as he lifted a chair off a stack of them and carried it over to where Yibo sat beside shelves of props. Dalu rolled his shoulders. “I feel so much more relaxed.”

Yibo smiled, unconvinced. “Sure you do.”

“I didn’t say I’m relaxed because you did a good job. The rest of the stuff relaxed me.” Dalu laughed and bumped his shoulder into Yibo’s. “All except the ear cleaning thing. That was pure torture.”

“You were such a baby.” 

“It tickled! You have no idea how lucky you are to skip that part. You were treated like a prince. A massage by me, a foot massage by that guy who’s done ten thousand of them. What a job that guy’s got, huh?”

Yibo grimaced as he recalled the pain of the reflexology segment. “I can’t relax when other people are touching me like that. Especially when I’m being watched. That’s the opposite of relaxation for me.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty shy about that but you’re _really_ shy.”

Yibo looked down and shrugged.

“No need to be, though!” Dalu patted Yibo’s knee. “It’s not like anyone out there wanted to slide their hands up under this big, cute sweater you’re wearing.”

Yibo smirked, raising his eyes. “You mean like you do?”

“Hey!” Dalu pretended to be shocked. “I’m your buddy, Yibo. I would never.”

“Yeah, okay.” Yibo laughed.

“You’re just so cute in this sweater. I mean it.” Dalu squeezed Yibo’s knee before sliding it up a few inches. He flashed puppy dog eyes at Yibo. “Come on, Yibo-di. You don’t need to be shy anymore. It’s only me.”

The exhortation not to be shy only succeeded in making Yibo blush. Cursing his fair skin, he mumbled, “What do you want? We might have to go out soon.”

Dalu visibly brightened. He patted his thighs. “We have time enough.”

He wanted it face to face. Yibo cringed at the idea even as blood began rushing to his cock. He wished he understood why some of the things that embarrassed him made him horny, but he had no answers. All he knew was that he was beginning to grow hot in his oversized yellow sweater and it might be nice to get some air under it.

“Come on,” Dalu coaxed. “You’re so cute. Don’t leave me hanging. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Whatever,” Yibo muttered before shifting over and carefully straddling Dalu’s legs. He felt like a kid sitting on his lap this way until Dalu’s hands cupped him by the hips.

“I’ll be quick,” Dalu repeated, grinning up at him. His smile drifted away as he squeezed Yibo’s hips. “Whether _you_ are is the question.”

“Just do it.”

“Bossy and cute! I keep telling everyone that you’re shy and cute!”

Yibo rolled his eyes and found himself unable to roll them back down when Dalu pushed his palm between his legs, directly over the fly of his jeans. Yibo let his lashes drift down to his cheeks as the older man massaged him through the denim. Blindly, Yibo set his hands on Dalu’s shoulders and clutched them.

“Is it my turn to get a massage?” Dalu murmured.

“No chance,” Yibo said, eyes still closed. He felt tugging on his waistband.

“Heartless. Bossy. Shy. Cute.”

“Will you stop calling me—unh” Yibo rolled forward, shoulders hunching as Dalu shoved his hand into his pants. The button on Yibo’s pants gave way with a pop and the zipper rolled down without resistance, giving Dalu plenty of room to grope Yibo through his underwear. Yibo groaned. “Unh. Yeah. Like that.”

“You like that?” Dalu pushed his free hand up beneath Yibo’s sweater and skimmed his palm along his side, nails lightly scratching. “You’re so thin. It shouldn’t turn me on so much but it does.”

“Don’t leave a mark,” Yibo ordered. He managed to flash a small warning glare before Dalu curled his hand around his dick and squeezed. Yibo melted and had to lock his elbows to keep from collapsing against the older man’s chest. “God…I’m already close.”

“Guess getting your feet rubbed gets you going,” Dalu teased. His gaze was riveted on Yibo’s groin, where he watched himself squeeze and rub Yibo. Dalu wrapped his hand fully around him and thumbed the tip. “You keep promising me you’ll let me suck on this. When is that going to happen?”

Yibo moaned as he pictured choking Dalu on his cock. “Soon,” he gasped. “I promise. Just not…now.”

“You’re too close for that, huh?” Yibo felt Dalu looking up at him, felt the lust in his stare, and had to turn his face up to the ceiling to cope with it. He shivered when Dalu’s breath fanned his throat.

“Didi,” Dalu whispered against his skin. He rubbed Yibo harder, more roughly. “Didi, do something for me?” He scraped his teeth over Yibo’s Adam’s apple. “Please?”

Yibo rolled his hips, fucking into Dalu’s fist. “What? What do you want?” He dug his heels into the floor to put more force behind his thrusts. Dalu’s grip was tight enough to bring an edge to the pleasure. “Hurry.”

“Bite your lip and look at me?”

“You…pervert!” Yibo choked out around a laugh. 

“Come on,” Dalu whined.

Yibo’s balls throbbed. He was so close… But he’d never been a selfish lover and he wouldn’t start now. He lowered his chin to look Dalu in the eyes. The older man’s pupils were dilated and his mouth hung slack. Stroking Yibo off was working as well for him as it was for Yibo.

“Make me cum, ge,” Yibo whispered. “Please.” Looking deep into Dalu’s eyes, Yibo caught his lower lip beneath his teeth and whimpered softly, piteously.

“Ah, shit.” Dalu breathed harshly through his nose as he stared at Yibo’s mouth. “Ah, shit.”

He slung his free arm behind Yibo’s back and yanked him in tight. The rough way Dalu hauled him in and the dominating grip he had on Yibo’s cock lit up Yibo’s brain. With a choked cry, he began cumming.

“Yeah. That’s it.” Dalu rocked Yibo against him while jerking him through his underwear. He groaned against the base of Yibo’s throat. “Fill my hand. Come on.”

Yibo writhed on his lap as Dalu milked his orgasm out of him. None of it made it onto Dalu’s hand. Yibo’s underwear soaked it up. The change in the friction against his cock sent him into a second round of twitching before he finally emptied himself.

Panting, he squeezed Dalu’s shoulders to signal him to stop. Dalu’s grip eased until it cradled him. 

“Yuck,” Yibo sighed once Dalu released him and air rushed in against his damp skin.

“Just take it off and hide it somewhere in here,” Dalu said with a strained laugh. He sat back and wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. “Phew, that was hot. I’m sweating.”

“How do you think I feel in this huge, stupid sweater?” Yibo yanked on the front of it.

“But you’re so—”

“Don’t you say it.”

Dalu blinked innocently up at him. “—well relaxed?”

Yibo had to admit he wasn’t wrong. Today’s shooting about spas had indeed left him feeling quite nice.

“Tonight,” Dalu said, with tension in his voice, “stop by my hotel room and give me a treatment.”

Yibo gingerly climbed off him. “What sort of treatment?”

Dalu gave him a pointed look. “You know, to whiten my skin like I said in the show.”

When Yibo caught his drift, he felt a pulse in his dick. “Yeah, okay,” he said huskily. “I’ll paint your face white as many times as you need it.”

Dalu gaped. “Shit, Yibo, you can’t just say it like—”

The knock on the door startled them both.

“Yibo, we need you,” called an assistant through the door.

Yibo looked down at his wet underwear and then at the huge mound in Dalu’s pants. “Forget tonight. We might not live through the next hour once Han-ge sees us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my original m/m novels at http://www.TriciaOwensBooks.com


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